


Heaven's Hung in Black

by lavatorylovemachine



Series: The God Series [2]
Category: Damien (TV)
Genre: 2000s, Backstory, Boarding School, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Character of Faith, Explicit Language, Gay Male Character, Gen, Gratuitous Smut, Headcanon, High School, M/M, Musical References, Not Beta Read, Obsession, Omenverse - Freeform, POV Minor Character, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavatorylovemachine/pseuds/lavatorylovemachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Powell was a good boy, with good parents and a life ahead of him. But moving to New York and Preston Hall will change him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Boys Go to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta'd, so I apologize in advance for my terrible English (it's my second language). The story is mostly canon-compliant with some stuff from my headcanon, plus nods to the first two movies.
> 
> I've placed Damien's birth in 1986 instead of 1976 so that he's actually 30 years old by 2016.

It was late at night, and the chapel was almost empty. Every once in a while, a person would walk in, bent one knee to the ground as they crossed themselves and enter the confessional. At the very last row of seats, a veiled woman prayed with a rosary in her hands. Away from her, at the second row, a skinny and small boy of about nine years old sat. His green eyes met the icon of a crucified Christ before him, then wandered towards the Bible on his lap. He opened it where he had bookmarked it the night before and read silently as he traced the words with his finger:

_A great sign was seen in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars. She was with child. She cried out in pain, laboring to give birth. Another sign was seen in heaven. Behold, a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and on his heads seven crowns. His tail drew one third of the stars of the sky, and threw them to the earth. The dragon stood before the woman who was about to give birth, so that when she gave birth he might devour her child. She gave birth to a son, a male child, who is to rule all the nations with a rod of iron._

"Seven heads, ten horns,” the boy mouthed in a near whisper. He was about to resume his reading when a door creaked behind him. He turned around in his seat: Father Atkins was stepping out of the confessional.

"Charles," he said, his voice shaking from old age. He started walking towards the boy. "What are you doing here so late? You have to be up early tomorrow."

"I'm studying, sir," Charles said and shut the book without looking at it. He and the priest were facing each other now. "You said we have to read the Bible a lot more often now.”

Father Atkins patted him on the back.

"You've studied enough, Charles. I don't know about the other boys but you, you're more than ready.”

Charles drew out tiny smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now, go home. Tomorrow is a big day.”

The boy stood up, Bible in one hand, and stepped out to the aisle. He looked at the priest inquisitively. “Father… what do ‘seven heads and ten horns’ mean?”

Father Atkins seemed taken aback. He frowned before saying, “Have you been reading Revelation?”

“Yes,” Charles nodded, “and there’s this bit about a dragon—“

“Ah, yes, the dragon and the serpent. I shouldn’t tell you this at such a young age, but they both happen to be Satan. Yes…” The priest sighed and touched his chin. “About the rest… You’ll understand once you reach a certain age. Just stick to the gospels for now, alright?”

“But I’ve already read them, sir.”

Father Atkins smiled. “I know you have. It just so happens that the gospels are all you need for your First Communion. Alright?”

Charles nodded.

“Is someone picking you up?” Father Atkins asked.

“My mum.” Charles looked at his wristwatch. “She should be here by now.”

From the street, a car’s lights shined on the chapel’s entrance for a moment. Then they went out.

“That’s her,” the boy said, squinting as he recognized his mother’s car.

“Very well,” Father Atkins said, putting a hand in Charles’ shoulder. “Remember, you have to be here by half past seven.”

“I will. See you tomorrow, Father.”

Charles turned his back on Father Atkins and started walking away. As he reached the street and smiled at his mother, he heard the priest blessing him.


	2. The Kids Aren't Alright

The blaring beeps of Charles’ alarm clock resonated through the room. He hit it with the flat of his hand and opened an eye: it was six in the morning. Sensing he had woken up his roommate, Charles rolled over to check on him, but the other bed was empty. The sheets were jumbled so Charles figured that he – whoever he was – had woken up earlier and was somewhere else.

Charles yawned loudly, the effects of sleep deprivation and jetlag still wearing him out. He had arrived at 1 AM that morning, when most of the school’s lights were out and his roommate slept entirely covered by the bed sheets, but it could have been eight in the morning for all he knew. The trip, moving into a new country, a new house, it had all been so tiring. But then, he recalled his father’s words, that Preston Hall was one of the best schools in America, so maybe it was all for the best. After all, Charles had always dreamed of becoming a lawyer, and the school could help him with that.

He leaned on his elbow and took a framed photograph from the nightstand in his hands. A statue of the Virgin Mary at a grotto served as the background for a nine-year-old Charles, dressed in a white suit and shirt, holding a candle in one hand and a First Communion invitation in the other. His parents, also in formal clothing, were at his side, each with a smile on their faces. His mother looked proud, and with a bittersweet smile, Charles thought about how terribly he missed her. She had decided not to follow her husband and son to America and stay in England instead, because of her job, but they had agreed to visit each other during the holidays.

As he put the photograph back in its place, Charles realized he actually missed everything else, not just his mother. He missed attending the youth services with Nicholas and Joanne, rehearsing Mass songs with the whole group, the retreats, watching the soccer games at home every weekend... It was where he belonged.

A clicking sound came from the door, so Charles quickly sat up. Another teenager was standing before him, sweaty and smiling, with shorts and a red sweatshirt that had the school’s name in it.

“Hi,” he said and closed the door. A pleasant, tingling sensation had taken over Charles' stomach as he gazed at the other boy. “You my new roommate?”

“Yeah…” Charles mumbled, his mouth suddenly dry. He tried to smile back, but his lips trembled on the way and what came out was a nervous face. He was quickly taken out of his reveries when the boy walked over to the other bed.

“I’m Damien,” he said.

Charles told Damien his name and watched him untie his tennis shoes. His eyes were a dark shade of green, and a trickle of brown mustache hair matched his hair everywhere else. When he was done taking off his tennis, Damien wiped the sweat off his forehead and took off his sweater, revealing his naked torso. Then he said something, but Charles didn't hear him.

“What?”

“I said, where in England are you from?”

“London,” Charles replied, his voice shaking.

“Sweet.”

Charles resolved to fixate his sight somewhere else, like the ceiling. He laid in bed again and put his hands behind his head while he heard Damien opening and closing drawers.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” the brown-haired boy said after a while. He headed towards the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his arm. “See you in class.”

After Damien closed the door, Charles jerked up in bed and opened the nightstand’s drawer in search for his bible. With trembling fingers he took it out, feeling his heartbeat getting quicker and wilder as he flipped through random pages. He tried to calm himself down, remembering something Father Atkins had told him when he was twelve. He had advised him that if he ever felt something impure, something sickening crawling up his thoughts, he could always turn to God for help. He said that God was forgiving and loved every one of His children.

Charles trusted Father Atkins, always did, but in that moment his fingers had a life of their own. Instead of searching for prayers or some kind of forgiveness for his sins, they went straight for the book of Revelation, where entire pages were filled with Charles’ own annotations, underlined phrases and footnotes in pen and pencil; so many that if someone else were to read it they wouldn’t understand a thing. He found a random passage and read:

_He who sits on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” He said, “Write, for these words of God are faithful and true.” He said to me, “I have become the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give freely to him who is thirsty from the spring of the water of life. He who overcomes, I will give him these things. I will be his God, and he will be my son. But for the cowardly, unbelieving, sinners, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their part is in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”_

Charles shut the book and put it away, startled. A tight knot began to form on his throat, which, coupled with his non-stopping, aggressive heartbeat, turned his breathing into pitiful panting.

The hot steam coming out from the bathroom made the stifling sensation worse. Invasive images were assaulting his brain, images of Damien naked, soaping his body… Charles shook his head violently and flung himself towards the doorknob, opening it as if it was the last lifeboat in the world. Once outside, in the empty hallway, he tried to breathe in and out but the heavy pressure on his chest made it almost impossible.

He moaned in pain: the silver crucifix hanging from his neck was suddenly burning him. He grabbed it and tried to yank it off, to no avail. It was as if the object was glued to his chest.

Charles started running, not knowing exactly where to. He was sweating cold, felt nauseous and his legs crumbled more and more with each step. Finally, he reached the end of the hallway and found a big lounge, just as big as the ones in hotels, surrounded by offices. Without overthinking it, Charles went inside the first empty office he found and quickly reached the bathroom. He washed his face with the cold water from the sink, but felt too weak to keep standing so he sat down, his back against the cabinets.

The burning on his chest turned into a sharp sting, so he reached down for his crucifix and was able to finally pull it off. Blood was trickling down from the tip, causing Charles to drop it immediately. He felt even weaker now, and as he slowly collapsed on the floor, his blurry vision distinguished the face and body of a woman. She looked mind-blowingly beautiful in her purple and scarlet dress, and the gold and pearls around her created a blinding glow. Charles recognized her as her full red lips twisted into a wide smirk… The Whore of Babylon.

**********

Charles felt someone lifting him up by the armpits and into a sitting position. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked, finding a middle-aged woman in front of him. She wore a white nurse uniform and glasses, and was kneeling down to put a stethoscope in her briefcase.

“What happened?” Charles asked. He still felt weak, but managed to rest his weight on one arm.

“A panic attack, surely,” the nurse answered, looking at him with concern on her face. “You had all the signs when I found you. Don’t worry, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

She hung the briefcase over her shoulder and went back to Charles, helping him stand up. When he did, he asked the nurse for his crucifix, to which she frowned.

“There was nothing here when I came in,” she said. “Was it yours?”

Charles nodded.

“Well, don’t worry about it now. Let’s go. You need medication.”

Two hours later Charles woke up on one of the infirmary’s stretchers, next to a wall. He had an IV up his right arm and felt much calmer, the events at his room and the office seemed like a bad dream now.

“Please don’t mention I gave you anxiety meds to anybody,” the nurse said. She was putting the items over the counter in order. “I’m not supposed to give them to students, but my sister suffers from panic attacks so I always have them with me”.

Charles nodded at her.

“Are you feeling better, though?” she asked.

“Yes. Still sleepy, but better.”

“That’s normal, the sleepiness. But you’ll make it alright through the classes.” She sat down on a tiny white chair and rubbed her hands against her skirt. “I wonder… what were you so anxious about? First day at the new school?”

"Yeah... I suppose so."

The nurse stood up and said:

“Well, it doesn't matter, what matters is that you're fine now. I’m going to check up on you in half an hour, okay?”

“Okay.”

Once the nurse left, Charles started thinking about it all. Maybe it was just the tiredness from the trip; it was messing with his body and mind. He vaguely remembered that the third class of the day was History, his favorite subject, and he suddenly felt positive about the whole day.

The nurse came back twenty minutes later, checked for Charles’ vital signs and removed the needle. She then put a gauze pad over the wound and pressed on it.

“I’m going to sign a note so you can give it to your teacher.”

She walked over to the counter and scribbled on something. Then she handed Charles the piece of paper that stated he had been at the infirmary for the first class. Under ‘reason’ she had written: “Stomachache.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, relieved. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t worry,” the nurse smiled sympathetically. “Do you want me to show you the way to your dormitory?”

Charles nodded as he remembered, embarrassed, that he was still in his pajamas.

*******

The tenth grade class was located on the second story of the school, at the right corner of a long hallway. Charles took his timetable out of his pocket and read it: _10:30 – History (J. Kripke)_. He lightly knocked on the classroom’s door three times.

The door opened and his teacher came into view, a long-faced young man.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, sir. I’m new here.” Charles handed him the note.

“Charles Powell,” the teacher read, then looked up at his student. “I’m Julian Kripke, your History teacher”, he smiled affably and they shook hands. “Come in.”

When Charles walked in the whole room suddenly dropped quiet. From all the six rows, his new classmates were staring at him. Damien sat in the middle of the room, chewing on a pen, his tie loose and his shirt unbuttoned slightly further than everyone else’s.

“This is Charles Powell, your new classmate,” the teacher introduced him. “I want you all to be in your best behavior. You’re English, right Charles?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Sit next to Marquand, there.” Mr. Kripke pointed in front of him, at the second seat of the third row.

Charles went to sit where he was told to, put his bag on the floor and took out his History textbook.

“As I was saying,” the teacher spoke as Charles opened the book on the third page, “Cuba claims there has been a lot of attempts on America’s end to kill Castro. Does anyone know how many, exactly?”

Charles raised his hand shyly.

“Powell,” the teacher pointed at him.

“Six hundred, sir. Although no one can claim how many of them actually happened.”

“Naturally,” Mr. Kripke said. “I remember one incident in particular, and these were just rumors. They said they spilled LSD to make Castro sound mad during radio broadcasts…”

As the lesson went on, Charles felt much at ease. He had already studied that topic on his old school, but Mr. Kripke talked about it in such a way that Charles didn’t feel bored.

“Now…” the teacher said after a few minutes of textbook reading, “if we remember correctly, Batista was overthrown in what year?”

The students stayed quiet.

“Come on, boys, we’ve covered this in eighth grade, you should know this. What year was Fulgencio Batista overthrown?”

Charles didn’t want to raise his hand again, but no one else seemed to know the answer. He could see the frustration in his teacher’s face and felt sorry for him.

“No one?” Mr. Krikpe repeated.

“1959,” Charles said, eyes pinned on his desk and without raising his hand.

“And Powell again. Amazing. What school do you come from?”

Charles looked up at his teacher. “Saint Paul, sir,” he answered.

As Mr. Kripke smiled in approval, Charles could feel the uncomfortable silence in the classroom, so ice cold someone could cut through it. He looked down at his textbook and was relieved when the lesson returned to its usual course: with the teacher explaining things and the students reading from their textbooks. 

He had just turned a page when a ball of paper fell on top of the book. He uncurled it and realized someone had written on it. It said, _Do you like cock?_

The fear and confusion in Charles’ face was met with the steadiness with which his teacher was expounding. He kept talking about Cuba, but Charles didn’t care anymore. He turned his head slightly to see who had thrown the paper, but none of the others seemed guilty. They were listening to the lesson, albeit looking bored, so Charles gave up on it and tried to focus on what his teacher was saying. When he noticed his neighbor Cray was getting curious about the paper, Charles quickly squeezed it and put it in his pocket.

After two more lessons, Math and English, the bell rang and the class was dismissed. Charles got up, bag in hand, and stared towards the back of the room, where everybody was shelving their books and notebooks in squared spaces. He couldn’t find a free one for himself.

“Use this one,” a boy spoke from the right corner of the room, where a shelf stood empty at the bottom right. He was very skinny and wore thick glasses. “No one wants it anyway.”

Charles came closer to him and knelt down as he took out his school supplies and slid them in.

“Why?” he asked. "Why does no one want to use this shelf?"

“It was Paul’s. He died last month”.

Charles gulped, looked up at his classmate and shelved his last notebook. Then he got up.

“I’m Jimmy,” the boy introduced himself. “You can sit with us at lunch if you want.” His head pointed at another student, standing three seats away. “That's Josh. We’re from the Chess Club.”

Josh and Charles nodded at each other.

The school’s cafeteria was packed with students from all ages, talking so loudly it created a monotone buzzing noise. Tall windows surrounded the place almost in its entirety, keeping it light and warm. Behind the many dinning tables, there was a long horizontal counter where women in blue informs served lunch to the kids in queue.

“Do you like New York?” Jimmy asked Charles as they watched steak and mash potatoes being lumped into their plates.

Charles bobbed his head to both sides. “It’s different…” he replied.

With their trays in hand, they walked towards a table where Josh and another student were already eating. The latter looked up at Charles but said nothing.

“Are you going to join us at the club?” Josh asked, still with his mouth food.

Charles tangled the noodles with his fork before answering. “I don’t know. I’ve only played chess once.”

“It’s easy as hell”, Jimmy said. “Once you get the—“ he suddenly closed his mouth, the excitement on his face fading as he looked behind Charles. A tall and corpulent blond boy walked over to Jimmy.

“What do you got for today, Foley?” he said as he leaned over and reached for Jimmy’s French fries with his fork. He put them in his mouth and started chewing. “Hmm, these are good fries.”

“Leave me alone, Connor.”

“C’mon… We’re just sharing food. Don't be selfish.”

In deadlike silence, Jimmy’s friends kept their eyes away from the scene, staring down at their own food trays. Jimmy himself did nothing but close his fists in anger. When Connor finished with the French fries he grabbed the soda can, opened it and poured the content in Jimmy’s face. He had started chuckling when he heard a chair dragging: Charles had stood up, palms on the table and eyes flashing with anger. Connor glanced him from head to toe and chuckled again, showing teeth.

“What are you gonna do, limey?”

Charles didn’t move. It had all played out better in his head, before he actually got up and was faced with the choice to do something. He saw Jimmy picking up the soda can from the floor and putting it on the table. Josh and the other boy continued to avoid looking at Connor.

Suddenly, Charles felt an arm around his neck, squeezing so tightly he was lift up a few inches from the ground. Gagging, he tried to free himself from the grip with all his might, even by kicking his feet, but he couldn’t. In an instant he was dragged down to the floor and heard snickering coming out from the arm’s owner.

“Thanks, Martin,” Connor’s voice said. Charles couldn’t see straight anymore but could feel his face redden. He wanted to shout at them to let him go but he could hardly breathe.

Then, as if they had read his thoughts, Martin removed his arm. Charles panted heavily and coughed as he leaned his hands on the cold floor. For a few seconds, it seemed like it was over. He was getting up when a kick in the jaw threw him over the ground again, his head hitting the floor. The pain left him dizzy; he turned on one side and tried to keep his eyes opened as blood trickled from his mouth. Then someone put him on his back again and punched him in the stomach with a strength that knocked the wind out of Charles. He couldn't move anymore but he was seeing Connor through his now wet eyelashes, a blonde, blurry figure whose fists landed mercilessly on Charles stomach again and again until he was choking on his own blood. 

After some time, during which there were loud whispers and some chairs moving around them, the sight of Connor was replaced by that of their History teacher, who pulled his student by the arms, rested his weight on a shoulder and slowly lifted him up, carefully making sure Charles' head wasn't in a position where he could still choke on blood. Charles was too weak, however, and he soon passed out in Mr. Kripke's arms.

*******

The night was full now. Charles rested his face on the pillow, feeling the itching pain on his body come and go intermittently, but thankful he was drugged enough not to complain. He lifted his head just enough to rest it to the other side and looked at Damien, who had his eyes on the ceiling and was smoking a cigarette. The list of rules glued to the door said it wasn’t allowed to smoke on school grounds, but Charles said nothing. He merely stared at his roommate, taking in on his features and realizing that the tingling sensation and quick heartbeat were back again. Just like that morning, only now he was too tired to fight it.

“Why did you do that, man?” Damien asked Charles after a while.

“Do what?” Charles said. His voice was still wheezy.

“Answer Kripke’s questions. I knew the answers too, I just don’t go around…” Damien sat up and blew some smoke out. He faced Charles. “Look, Connor is a dick, don’t provoke him.”

Charles said nothing. He continued to gaze at Damien.

“You like History too?” he heard himself say, immediately regretting it.

Damien shrugged. “It’s just easier than the other subjects.”

Charles started coughing, the smoke was coming right up his nostrils now.

“Oh, sorry,” Damien said and threw the cigarette on the floor, stomping on it with his slippers. He looked at Charles’ patch for a moment and reached for the stereo on his nightstand, where he pushed the play button.

“You like the Foo Fighters?” he asked, laying on his bed.

“Yeah,” Charles lied.

“They’re awesome, right?”

Charles rolled on his back while the music played. Until now he hadn’t noticed the motto engraved on the school’s crest, hanging on the wall: _To serve is to honor_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out longer than I had intended to. I was initially going to split it into 2 chapters, but it has the unity that it all happens in one day so... Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed it! :)


	3. Tastes Good, Doesn't It?

It was midday at Preston Hall when Mr. Powell’s car pulled over the parking lot. Looking at his son, he drew out a tiny smile from the driver’s seat and opened the front passenger’s door. Charles took a seat, trying to mimic his father’s enthusiastic expression but failing.

“How was your first week?”

Charles was glad, for once, that adults never noticed anything.

“Fine”.

As the car drove off, away from the school, Charles turned to look at his father: they truly were, as everyone in the family said, a mirror of each other. The same short black hair, the piercing green eyes, they even shared the same quiet, introverted personality. He usually didn’t say much, but this time he seemed very interested in the way Preston Hall worked and how it was different from Saint Paul, Charles’ teachers, his classmates, even the food. Charles answered mechanically to all of this; “yes”, “no”, “fine”. He realized he didn’t even need to listen closely, he just had to nod and say anything, any word, to make his father happy.

When they got home, a bigger house than the one they had in London, Charles immediately ran off to his bedroom, telling his father he wanted to check his e-mails. That wasn’t entirely false, but first he headed for his bathroom. He checked his jaw in the mirror, seeing with satisfaction that the make-up he had stolen from the nurse’s purse was effective so far.

After leaving the bathroom, he turned the computer on. He had two emails, from Joanne and Nicholas, the first dated from Thursday and the second from Friday. He decided to open Nicholas’ first.

_Hiya, Charles! How are you, mate? How’s America? The Matt Redman show was incredible! Great energy, and you could really feel the Spirit move. Blimey, you should have been there._

_Are you watching the match tomorrow? Hope you have cable or something over there. Can’t miss it. I bet Ethan we’ll beat them 3-0. You with me?_

_Please do write back. You’re missed here, mate._

Charles took a deep breath before hitting the reply button.

_Hi, Nick!_

_I just got home, it was a long week. I’m fine, but a little sad I missed the show! New York is different. My new house is in a suburb, so there's not much else to do. Although there's a chapel nearby at least, so that counts for something, right?_

_I’m not sure if they broadcast football here. In any case, I can follow what happens in our Gunners chatroom. I’m sure, though, that we will beat those Yids, as always ;) haha. 3-0, 2-0, doesn’t matter, as long as we win._

He re-read his message a few times, hit ‘send’ and went for Joanna’s e-mail.

_Hey, shorty ;) I miss you so much! <3 Well, we all do. I hope you’re doing alright over there. Isn’t it boring, though? Being stuck with other lads for five days in a row…_

_Have you made friends already? Met a girl around the neighbourhood yet? ;) You need to stop being so quiet if you want to date._

_Anyway. I have to go. I have a Math test for tomorrow. Mrs. Cole is being awful, as usual!_

_Bye! :P Take care._

Charles was about to hit the reply button when the house phone rang.

“It’s probably your mother!” his father shouted from the first story.

Charles immediately got up and ran downstairs, finding his father already talking on the phone.

“Yes, I quite like my new office…” he said, leaning his arm against the kitchen wall. “I know, I know it does, darling… Well, you can talk to him yourself, he’s standing here next to me… Alright, bye, love.” Mr. Powell held the phone handle over to Charles. “You mother wants to talk to you.”

Charles smiled and put the phone to his ear.

“Hello, mum.”

"Hello, baby. How are you?"

"Mum..."

"Oh, you know you'll always be my baby." Charles gave in and chuckled. “How was that first week, Charles? Everything alright over there?”

“Yes, yes, all good. The school is different but I like it. I had loads of fun this first week.”

“Really? How are the teachers?”

“Good.”

“And the other boys?”

Charles couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the last question. “Good too. I think I’m going to join the Chess Club.”

“The Chess Club? Alright, if that is what you like…”

There was a pause. Then Charles asked, “How are you, mum?”

“I’m fine, I suppose… All the neighbours have been wonderful to me, specially Mrs. Barlow. She brought me a cake the day after you left. So sweet of her… She sends her regards, by the way. Says you’re going to be a wonderful lawyer, just like your father.”

Charles smiled. “Thanks… that’s… that’s amazing of her.”

“Isn’t it? And I believe it too. I’m sure you’ll do great at the new school, Charles.”

“Thanks, mum.”

“And don’t forget, I’m going to fly over there by Christmas. Do you want me to bring you any special present?”

“Any present will be fine. Don't worry.”

“Alright. I have to go now. Cricket can’t wait another minute. Take care, sweetie. Remember, you're in my prayers.”

“You too, mum. Bye.”

“We’ll talk soon, okay? Bye.”

His father seemed surprised at the genuine happiness his son oozed after hanging up the phone. Their eye contact didn't last long, though, as Charles ran back upstairs and got into his room. He sat in front of the computer but his fingers didn’t touch the keyboard for a while, not knowing what to say to Joanne. Then he started writing:

_Hi, Jo :-)_

_I miss you all too. I’m doing alright, and yes, sometimes it gets a bit boring, but I think I’ll get used to it in time._

_I’ve made some friends, from the Chess Club. They're cool. And no, no girls yet. I’ve just moved in, Jo! Don’t be so impatient…_

_Good luck with your test, I hope you aced it. Bye. :)_

He glanced at the yellow rose in its vase, resting next to the computer screen. “They told me yellow means new beginnings,” his mother had told him at the airport. He drew out a smile for a moment and then sat on the bed, turning on the tv in front of him. He flipped through some channels, finding nothing resembling soccer, so he chose to stay with MTV. They were showing a video of Hispanic girls dancing to rock-influenced latin music. Charles watched it for a while, finding himself more interested in the male singer than in the girls.

He laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Girls were everywhere, one couldn’t escape them, but something strange must have happened with him because he didn’t look at them the way the other boys did. He remembered Clara, the girl he kissed on a whim, without thinking, just to prove himself he was as normal as the others. It happened the year before at church camp, and Charles still remembered her face, how hurt she was when he told her he didn’t want to go out with her afterwards. He hated himself, but he hadn’t felt a thing when they kissed and didn’t want to lie to her.

 _She doesn’t have Damien’s smile_ , he caught himself thinking and panicked for a moment before putting another, more reassuring thought inside him: _It’s just a phase. It'll pass._

***********

On Sunday morning, Charles had just finished showering and was looking at his chest in the mirror. What were once burn marks in the shape of a cross had now faded almost completely, with just a couple of small red dots. However, it still hurt a little, as Charles could check when his fingers brushed his skin.

“Have I left some papers here by any chance?” his dad’s voice called.

Charles stepped out of the bathroom.

“No…” he answered as he shook his hair with a towel. All he had on were sweatpants and flip flops.

“Alright…” Mr. Powell said, but didn’t leave. His eyes wandered all around the room, as if he expected to find his papers on the ceiling. Finally they stopped at Charles’ face. He frowned. “What’s that you’ve got in there?”

“Where?”

Charles opened the closet and grabbed a t-shirt.

“There," Mr. Powell pointed at Charles' jaw. "You’ve got a bruise in there.”

Charles said nothing. He was ready to put on his t-shirt when he felt his father standing just inches away from him.

“Let me see that.”

Mr. Powell lifted his son’s chin and turned it to a side. He grimaced.

“What happened? Got into a fight?”

“Yeah, it’s…. it’s nothing, dad.”

“Charles…”

The boy kept his eyes away from his father. “I have to dress," he said. "Could you leave me alone for a moment?”

Mr. Powell sighed and looked at his son for a while, then left the room.

Charles put the t-shirt on and bent over for his tennis shoes. When he was done dressing, he went to the bathroom to comb his hair, taking the chance to check himself in the mirror again. He couldn’t believe he had been stupid enough to forget the make-up even for one second.

After several minutes, during which Charles played a game on his computer, he heard footsteps again.

“I talked to the principal,” Mr. Powell said and sat on his son’s bed.

“What?” Charles turned in his chair. “Why did you do that?”

“He says the other boy wasn’t suspended because his father a well-known Senator, a big contributor to the school too.” Mr. Powell shook his head. “Can you believe it?”

Charles nodded. “They had him clean the library as a punishment.”

“Yes, so I’ve been informed. But the Principal says there _is_ something we can do. Maybe you and this Connor boy can make amends. You know, try to---“ 

“We’re not friends”, Charles interrupted with clenched teeth.

“Charles… You need to get along with your classmates. Think about your future. What if this boy had connections for you in some university or a firm?”

Charles turned on his seat and resumed the game on his computer.

“Okay, dad. I’ll do as you say.”

There was a pause, then Mr. Powell said, “Do you mean that, Charles?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Charles said, this time more aggressively.

“Good. I’m going to make pancakes. You fancy some?”

“Sure, dad.”

Once his father left, Charles looked at his watch: it was almost time for the Arsenal match. He quit the game and opened the chatroom client on his desktop screen.

**************

The Chess Club kids and Charles were playing a trading card game, sitting next to each other on a couch in the big lounge. Charles was surprised to find Damien and his friends by a window, smoking and talking instead of hanging outside. It was way past the last lesson so they wore casual clothes, while Charles and the others were still in their uniforms.

“Blade of Gondolin, Charles.”

“What?”

“Gondolin! Can you beat that one?”

Jimmy was smiling defiantly. Charles looked at his card, made a face and threw it on the tiny table.

“Hill Troll?” Jimmy said. “Bad luck, man.”

Charles passed his turn to Josh, sitting next to him, and watched Damien and the others leave the lounge towards the dormitories. They laughed and talked loudly, some with arms around each other.

“They have a secret club,” Josh said.

“Really?” Charles asked.

Jimmy rearranged the cards while Charles picked up a book he had been reading the entire time.

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “No one else can join. I think they call themselves The Lions or something.”

“The Morons, you mean,” Josh said and laughed.

Charles shifted on the couch and leaned back to read his book, but after a few sentences he found out he couldn’t concentrate. He was thinking about something he had read in Revelation that morning, and suddenly heard himself asking the others about how Paul had died.

Jimmy glanced at the card in his hand, then at Charles. The others grimaced.

“You don’t want to know,” Josh said.

“Why not?”

“It was creepy as hell. I don’t even want to remember.”

They stayed quiet for a while, cards flopping by, then Jimmy finally spoke, in a low voice.

“He got sucked into a plane engine… God fucking knows how that happened... He didn’t even have a funeral because his body was… well.” Jimmy rubbed his forehead. “His parents had him cremated.”

A shudder went through Charles' spine, and he could tell something similar was happening with the others by the expressions in their faces.

“But why was he standing there, if the engine was on?”, he asked.

“That’s the thing, it wasn’t on at first”, Jimmy answered. “Paul’s uncle is a pilot and he was standing next to the plane, showing it to Damien and Paul… Then he left to his office, and the engine turned itself on for some reason. That’s all we know.”

Charles left his book on the couch.

“Damien was there?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Josh said. “He and Paul were roommates.”

When Josh lost the game to Jimmy, Charles took one of the cards from the pile and absently flipped it back and front. He could hear Damien and his group talking in his dormitory, and suddenly remembered how happy and casual the brown-haired boy seemed when they first met.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Josh said, “but I kinda liked Paul. He wasn’t like everyone else here.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said, concentrating on his card. “You’re right.”

“What do you mean?” Charles asked.

“He was here on a scholarship,” Josh said, “so he wasn’t loaded like…” he chuckled, “well, like us. Never saw him bragging like Cray or the others.”

“What’s that book you've got there?” Jimmy asked Charles, squinting to catch the title.

“Screwtape Letters”.

“Huh. I heard about it. C.S. Lewis?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, cool. So you like Harry Potter too?”

Charles shook his head. “That stuff is evil.”

The two other boys chuckled. “You’re not serious,” Josh said.

“I _am_ serious. Why?”

Josh shrugged. “You’re a Christian or something?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Nothing, dude. Calm down. At least you like Lord of the Rings.”

They stayed chatting and playing until past ten o’clock, when they decided to return to their rooms.

Smoke was coming out of Charles and Damien’s dormitory. Charles lingered at the door for a moment, then tried to open it, but it was locked.

“We’re busy here!” Damien’s voice answered.

“Come in if you’ve got pizza, though!” Cray added, to which the group laughed.

Charles sat on the floor, banging his head against the wall and looking at his watch from time to time.

“So…” a boy’s voice came from the inside. It was David, Charles remembered. “How was it?”

“Great”, Damien said, made a slurping noise and burped. “I came on her tits,” he chuckled and the others followed suit.

“Were they as big as they look?” Cray asked.

“Yeah.”

“Like this big?”

“More like, this big.”

“Shiiiiit…”

“You’re the man, Damien,” a deeper voice said, “you’re the man.”

“And I was this close to second base with her!”

“Are you kidding? Fucking Fowley had more chances than you, Jared.”

“So who are you going out with next Sunday?”

“Lynn,” Damien answered.

“The fat one with braces?”

“No, the other one. Brunette, nice butt, you know…”

Charles felt someone else’s presence in the corridor, so he looked up. A black-haired kid from his class was coming closer, looking down at him as he smirked. He wore a large, black sweatshirt and baggy pants.

“Hey, Powell,” he said. Charles looked up at him in confusion, remembering he sat at the left corner of the class. “You didn’t answer my question”.

“What question?”

“The one I sent you. Do you like cock, Powell?”

A shiver went down Charles’ spine. He got up, made as if he was to leave the scene, but the long corridor was empty and quiet. There weren’t even any teachers around. The other boy was no longer smirking, but squinting with determination.

“Do you?” he repeated.

Charles tried to seem calm and firm as he answered. “No.”

He watched him take a crumpled toilet paper from out of his pocket, which he then leveled up to Charles’ eyes.

“If you eat this, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell what?”

The other student quickly shoved the paper in Charles’ mouth and pushed him against the wall. Charles didn’t move an inch, not even his tongue, as he tried to block his sense of taste.

“Eat it. It’s cum”.

Charles spit some of the paper through a slight gape in his mouth, but the other kid grabbed him by the neck and squeezed tight.

“Eat it or I will fucking punch you.”

Turning his head to the right, Charles started chewing slowly and swallowed only once to please the other student, who chuckled and let him go.

“It tastes good, doesn’t it?” he asked, smirking. “Well, you should know.”

He walked away as one walks out of a particularly enjoyable movie. Still with his mouth full, Charles waited until the corridor was clear again to run to the nearest bathroom, one in an unoccupied room he didn’t know who it belonged to.

Pressing his hands against the sink, he spit more toilet paper and forced himself to vomit the rest. Watching the mix of orange juice, water and paper floating over the drain, he turned on the tap and begged for the water to clean it all out. Judging it was fairly clean, he looked up into the mirror and flashed his teeth.

A small, fearful teenage boy stared back; a boy with traces of semen-filled paper still stuck. The smell and the taste were terrible, so he used his index finger to clean himself. He looked down and was glad to find toothpaste and a toothbrush lying next to him. 

After he had brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth he left the room, spotting Damien’s group coming out and into the corridor. He started walking up, close to the wall, and suddenly caught Mr. Kripke walking faster and past him. In a few seconds he was standing next to Damien's room.

“Out late again, boys?”

“We were just talking…” Damien protested weakly.

“Just talking? And why does it smell of liquor and cigarettes here?” Damien and his friends stayed quiet, some of them looking down. Charles watched the scene from a few feet apart. “I want you to take out the bottles and whatever else you have inside and put them down here, in the corridor.”

Damien and his friends did as they were told, ending up with a row of four whiskey bottles, some empty and others half-empty, and cigarette butts. Cray threw an angry look at Charles.

“You told on us, didn’t you?”

“Marquand,” the History teacher warned. “Charles did nothing. I could hear the noise you were making from miles.” He bent over, grabbed a bottle and gave it to Damien. “Thorn, take this to the principal’s office and tell him you and your friends were at it again. I’ll walk you.”

With the whisky bottle in both hands, Damien flashed a tiny smirk at his teacher, who frowned and said, louder, “Don’t smile at me like that, kid. Your Godfather won’t save you this time.” He turned to the others. “Go back to your dormitories.”

Charles watched them walking away in total silence, the teacher at the back. He walked into the room, closed the door and found a couple of porn magazines on Damien’s bed. He shifted his eyes towards the closet, opened it and took out his pajamas from one of the drawers. When he did so, something that resembled a card slipped out and fell on the floor.

He picked it up: it was a photograph of Damien and another teen, shorter and with darker skin. They were standing on the edge of a pool, in their swimsuits and with their arms on each other’s shoulders, smiling. Charles noticed the date at the right corner: _05-15-2000_. He distractedly started peeling at it, finding another photo stuck beneath. On it, the boy wore a plane pilot uniform and had his arms around a blonde girl’s waist, with a landing track as the background. The picture date stated it was taken just weeks before Charles came to the school.

Charles gazed at the photos for a while before deciding to save them between the pages of his Bible. When he had put the latter inside his nightstand drawer and was unbuttoning his suit, Damien came back. He walked over to his own bed and Charles fixated his eyes on the door as to not watch him undress; but as he had finished taking off his uniform, he turn his head slightly to catch Damien in his underwear.

“What?” the taller boy blurted out.

“Nothing,” Charles said and quickly and turned his eyes towards the door again. He put on his pajama shirt and started buttoning it. “Damien?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about Paul.”

“How did you…?” Damien stopped himself before saying, in a calmer tone, “Nevermind. Yeah, thanks. He was a good friend.”

Charles yawned, put on his pants and tucked himself into bed. He heard Damien’s sheets moving too when all of a sudden a dog started barking in the distance, interrupting the night’s quietness. It was like a warning bark at first, then got angrier and louder with each second, turned into growling and finally, after a gun fire, it stopped.

Charles, who had clung to his pillow the whole time, sat up, pale with fear. Something about the dog's sounds installed an uneasy feeling in him.

“What was that?” he asked, more to himself than to Damien.

Damien took a long time to answer.

“Probably a stray dog”, he finally said. Charles still didn’t look at him. “Let’s just sleep. We have fucking Math tomorrow early.”

Charles laid back in bed, closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he could only do so after what seemed like hours.


	4. Dirty Little Secret

Charles had his eyes closed and his entire body covered in sheets, but he wasn’t sleeping. He turned on his right side, opened his eyes slowly and saw through a gap beneath the sheets and covers Damien getting out of bed with a yawn, stretching his arms putting on the tennis shoes found on the floor. Charles breathed in an out, still pretending to be asleep, and continued to watch: after undressing, Damien took out the familiar sweatshirt and shorts from the closet, put them on and went to wash his face in the bathroom. After he had left, Charles got up and lighted the lamp on his nightstand to see better. According to his watch, it was still five in the morning.

He considered showering first, but realized that there wasn’t enough time for that; so instead he dressed into his uniform. Before leaving the room he washed his face and combed his hair, making sure he didn’t look like he was unclean. Preston Hall had a very strict policy on the students’ hygiene, after all.

As quietly as he could, he left the dormitory and closed the door behind him, looking up and down the corridor. It was empty and no footsteps could be heard. Charles passed the great hall, went downstairs to the lobby in the ground floor, where the receptionist usually made the parents wait for a teacher, and stopped before the entrance door. He took a step to the left and looked out the window: the football field was surrounded by grandstands and a running track. Damien could be spotted reaching the hundred-meters mark by left side of the field, jogging at a medium trot, and as he came closer to the school building, Charles' heart pounded faster, his pupils dilated and his body hair bristled.

Suddenly, he felt something pleasant rubbing onto his pants. He looked down and checked his bulging erection, visible enough to anyone that might pass by at any moment. He quickly turned away from the window and sat in one of the couches, rubbing his forehead frantically. He couldn’t do _that_ now, or _ever_ for that matter. He had never done it, so he wasn’t sure how to either.

He reached out for one of the magazines in the glass desk, looking for some distraction. Nervous as he was, he realized when it was too late that he had picked up the school’s year book from last year instead of a magazine. He opened it at the centerfold, which was full of photos from the football team. _Preston Hall beats Aaron Academy by an outstanding 26-5. Our boys rock!_ , the title read. In all the photos Damien posed at the center of the team, surrounded by David and Cray, sporting the same smirk he had shown before Mr. Kripke. Charles noticed that all the photos were credited to Damien himself.

He closed the yearbook and put it back in its place, anxious because his hard-on wasn’t going away. It was even hurting now. He got up, peaked through the window again and waited until Damien had turned his back on the building, now running in the opposite direction. Charles wasn’t sure of why he was doing it, but he opened the door, stepped down the small stares and started pacing after Damien from a distance long enough Charles was sure he’d go unnoticed, but close enough he had complete freedom to gaze at his roommate. Charles could take in more details now. Damien’s muscles tensed and relaxed as he ran, sweat covered his pale skin and his hair looked bright in the still timid dawn.

For a while, Damien didn’t seem to suspect what was going on. But, just as he had reached the field’s corner, he stopped on his tracks and turned his head to a side. Charles was thankful he was fast enough to run and hide behind one of the galleries’ cuts. When Damien had stopped looking around in suspicion and resumed his running, Charles breathed out the air from his lungs and looked around for a place to run away from the scene.

The football field and grandstands were surrounded by a spiky fence. Charles wasn’t sure if he was willing to hurt himself jumping over it, but it wasn’t that high so he took the risk. Once at the other side, he found himself standing on high grass and before a road. Across the road there was a plain with more grass with a few tress scattered about.

Without checking if there were cars nearby, Charles quickly crossed the road and ran to hide behind a tree. The dawn was full now, and he had to squint at the sunlight. Sighing in frustration, Charles wished his hard on would go away so that he could return to school grounds.

He looked up at the tree and saw a white dove in one of the branches, shimmering in the already beautiful landscape, its small black eyes exploring the scenery. It then flapped its wings and flew down to Charles’ shoulder, who looked at the animal as it made its way through his wrist. He petted its head with tenderness as it cooed softly. Charles suddenly felt calmer, relieved and even a bit happy.

But suddenly the dove flew away. Squinting, Charles followed the flapping wings until they had found a new tree branch to stand on. But instead of the dove, there was a black crow, its eyes staring deep into Charles’ as if it knew his most intimate thoughts and feelings. Frightened, Charles looked away and when he looked back again the crow was gone.

A sudden wetness between his legs made him unzip his pants and pull down his boxers: a transparent liquid dripped down his glans’ slit. He couldn’t ignore his erection anymore, the way it hurt to the point he felt he was going to explode unless he took care of it. He closed his eyes and started stroking himself. With the images of all the days next to Damien, seeing him half-naked every morning, he only needed a couple of movements to come in several spurts of pleasure he didn’t know he had within.

Even though no one was around, he had still closed his mouth shut in an effort to contain his moaning. When his heartbeat and breathing seemed to return to normal, he looked down, relieved to find no evidence of what he had done. It was impossible to notice anything in the middle of the thick and tall grass.

He rubbed his hands together as not to stain his clothes and got dressed. Then he looked up: an old trailer park stood right in front of him, apparently abandoned. He ran towards it and when he got to the door, he noticed the shape of a Christmas tree drawn next to it. Charles grazed it with his fingers before stepping inside.

It didn’t look as old as it did on the outside, but it wasn’t that clean either. It had an old bed at the back and there were compartments with cans and boxes of food at each side. Charles searched through it for a while, checking the expiration dates, and suddenly remembered his hands were still dirty. He washed them in the nearby sink, and got out.

 

He walked quickly through the lobby and headed upstairs for the great hall, hoping it would look like he had just woken up. But when he was about to sit in one of the couches he noticed Mr. Kripke in the teachers’ room, putting papers and books inside his suitcase.

“Charles!” he called out, looking up. “Could you come in for a second? I want to talk to you.”

“Sure.”

Charles walked into the room and sat down in a chair before his teacher, who was now limping to get to the bookshelves on the other side. He had bandages at the end of his left leg.

“Are you alright, sir?” Charles asked.

“I am now,” Mr. Kripke said, a bit of physical pain in his voice. “I got bit by a dog last night. Almost lost my leg… Good thing I carry a gun.”

“I heard it barking. It was quite--”

“Yes, the thing was furious. Thank God the janitor took the body away after I shot it.”

Mr. Kripke returned to the desk and continued to fill up his suitcase. He looked up at Charles with a sympathetic gesture.

“Listen, Charles. I’m quitting today, but it still wouldn’t be a good idea if you mentioned the gun thing to anybody. It’s against the rules for teachers to be armed. But if you’d have spent years around people like Connor or Jones you’d get a little paranoid too.” He chuckled slightly and put a big envelope on the suitcase before zipping it close.

“You’re leaving? For good?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s just too much. Everyone gets away with everything and you can’t get them expelled because their fathers are senators or they belong to the big Thorn Family State. It’s ridiculous. And then they let wild dogs in here! I’d rather go back to teaching community college, to be honest.”

Charles didn’t say anything. He just looked at his teacher.

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling,” Mr. Kripke continued with an apologetic smile. “You probably don’t need to know about my personal life.” He looked up at Charles again and into his eyes. “I called you because I needed to talk to you before I leave.” Charles nodded. “Listen, I know it’s hell around here, but try to stay. You have the talent, you just need Ivy League to let it blossom. Just try not to get the others get to you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“They can have all the money they want, but they make bad choices. You, Charles, you don’t need a lecture to make the right choices. It’s all here,” he pointed at his own head, “in your mind. You can choose to be as big and successful as you’d like. Remember that.”

Charles nodded and watched Mr. Kripke limp towards the windows, draw the curtains and go back to grab his suitcase. “You will be missed, sir,” Charles said.

“Thank you. But I’m certain we’ll see each other again. I’ll talk to my colleagues at Columbia about you. You still want to go to Law School?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Kripke walked towards the door and Charles followed him.

“Excellent. Just keep studying, then,” his former teacher said and reached a hand, which Charles shook. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. Good luck to you too, sir.”

They got out of the teacher's lounge and Charles stood there, watching his now former teacher go downstairs. He turned on his feet and spotted Damien walking towards their dormitory. He ran after him and caught him just as the other boy was opening the door.

“Damien?”

 “Yeah.”

They had entered the room. Damien took of his sweater, sat on the bed and started untying his tennis.

“I know a place for you and your friends,” Charles said, swallowing the saliva that had accumulated inside his mouth. “To… go out.”

“Hang out, you mean?” Damien frowned.

“Yeah, that. There’s a trailer park outside the school. No one will know you’re there.”

Damien looked up after putting on slippers. “Where exactly?”

“Behind the grandstands on the east side. You have to jump the fence.”

“How do you know this?” Damien asked as he took out a towel from the closet.

“Found it on my first day here.”

Damien closed the closet and looked at Charles. “Thanks for the tip,” he said.

 

Charles still couldn’t believe he had gotten there, with a whiskey bottle in one hand and surrounded by Damien and his friends in the trailer park. The eight boys were cramped in the tiny space, some standing and some sitting on the floor.

“You sure you don’t want a cig?” David asked Charles, offering him one.

“No, thanks,” Charles said and coughed yet again.

“What the fuck is Powell doing here anyway?” Jared asked loudly, sitting in front of the other two.

“Calm down, dude,” David said, “he told us about this place.”

They kept on drinking and smoking, until Damien, standing at the center of the group, declared he was bored.

“So… what do we do?” one of his friends asked.

“We could play Truth or Dare…” another one suggested.

“Are you twelve?” Cray chuckled.

“Well, there’s not much else to do…” David said. “Besides, we could play truths only, so no one can chicken out.”

Damien smirked. “Sounds interesting… So who starts?”

“The one handling the bottle…” David looked at Charles and smirked. “Come on, Powell, give the bottle to whoever you want and ask him something.”

“Alright…” Charles said, thinking.

“But drink first,” David added.

Charles raised the bottle and drank some whiskey, which gave him time to think of something. “David… how many times have you done it?”

Charles looked at the others’ approving smirks and chuckles and breathed out in relief.

“Lots of times,” David answered loudly. Some in the group laughed.

“Yeah, right…”

“I’m not lying! There was Shirley, Kate, Gwen---“

“Oral doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, oral doesn’t count.”

“Still got laid more than you, Cray,” David said.

“Bullshit,” Cray said.

“You know it’s true.”

“ _Anyway_ …” Cray continued. “Next one?”

David took a gulp of whiskey and, smirking, handled the bottle over to Damien.

“Have you ever touched a dick?” David asked and burst out laughing.

“What?” Damien retorted indignantly.

“It’s just a question, man.”

“You’re a sick fuck,” Damien said.

“Have you, though?” Jared asked.

“No…”

“Doesn’t sound very convincing,” David smirked.

“Well, I haven’t!”

“Jacked someone off?”

“Ok, that’s two questions.”

“You can ask me another one to compensate,” David said, seemingly unable to hide his wide grin.

“Ok, me and this guy jerked each other off once,” Damien said quickly. “But I was like, thirteen. It doesn’t count.”

There was a collective groan and some laughter, except for Charles, who stayed quiet. He bent over to grab a vodka bottle from the floor and drank it as if he had been doing it for months. His chest was fluttering, he breathed heavily and he had another hard on; but no one else seemed to notice it.

“Damien, what the fuck…”

“Dude, that’s gay…”

“C’mon, everybody’s done it…” Damien said. “Circle jerk and stuff…”

“Not me.”

“Nope.”

“Jesus Christ…” Damien sighed and started playing with the whiskey bottle. Cray and David were sniggering with their hands covering their mouths. “We were watching porn and just decided to jack off.”

“I like to watch porn by myself, thank you.”

“So you guys came at the same time or something? Did you wait for the other dude to---“

“Okay, knock it off!” Cray shouted over everyone else, though still visibly amused. He looked at Damien. “Just stop talking man, you make it worse each time. It’s your turn to ask now.”

Damien looked up at Cray and gave the bottle to the boy on his right.

“Okay, nothing you can ask me can top what you just said.”

“Fuck off!”

Charles wasn’t listening to the others anymore. Instead, his eyes fixated on Damien’s pants, on the visible hard on beneath them that only Charles seemed to notice. He drank some more and the image of Damien watching a porn video and sliding a hand down his pants became crystal clear to Charles. As he entertained the thought of his roommate's length and size and all the ways it could enter him, a cheeky smile spread across his face.

The questions kept going in rounds, mostly about the boys' embarrassing experiences, more sexual encounters and girls Charles didn't know. He was thankful everyone was still ignoring him, as he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to talk at all had it been his turn.

It was past midnight when Cray looked at his watch and said they should probably leave, to which everyone else left the alcohol in the cabinets and followed him outside the trailer park. Only Damien and Charles stayed, the first one sitting on a bed at the back and juicing out the last of his whiskey while the latter stood, a few feet apart, motionless in the dark.

Suddenly Damien slipped a hand down his pants and brought his erect cock to light. As he started pumping it up and down, Charles gulped and felt his heart pound louder, his breath quicken. Damien looked up, his head pointing at Charles’ own hard on.

“I’ll help you if you help me.”

Charles blushed intensely, his eyes widening at the sight in front of him. For what might have been hours or seconds, he struggled with his decision. Then, with shaky legs and without taking his eyes off his roommate, he walked towards the bed and pulled down his sweatpants and boxers before sitting next to Damien.

Charles licked his lips before circling the base of Damien’s cock with a trembling hand and giving the first strokes. Groaning and breathing out, Damien threw his head back and grabbed Charles’ erection, to which the latter squirmed and let out a high moan that made him blush. But as both boys continued to work on each other, Charles found himself not worrying anymore. For all he cared, they could hear them both up to the school grounds.

"Damien..."

Damien's moaning grew louder and he started panting before falling back on the bed. Just then, Charles felt his busy hand getting wet and opened his eyes to notice the precum that was making his motions faster. Still, he couldn’t keep up with Damien, who had a tighter and faster grip, showing even in the darkness of that trailer park who was the strongest of the two. It hurt Charles a little, but he wanted to scream how good it felt. All that escaped his mouth, though, were moans and groans that echoed inside his head and all around the place.

“Fuck…” Damien exhaled loudly. As Charles started oozing precum as well, he laid on the bed and turned his starry eyes to Damien: he was sweating again, that beautiful sweat Charles had seen so many times before, and the way his face contorted in pleasure made the English boy mad.

He couldn’t help but to cup Damien’s face with his free hand and give him a deep kiss he didn’t even know he could perform. To his complete surprise, Damien didn’t resist it; instead his mouth welcomed Charles and explored it with his own tongue. In a few seconds they were in a wet and sloppy mess.

The kiss was broken when Damien started bucking his hips and a trail of swear words escaped his lips. Charles watched the scene as focused as he could, stroking Damien fast and steady while feeling the other boy's handjob slowed down. Damien’s cock began throbbing and, after loud groans, several spurts of semen flew from the tip and landed on his abdomen, chest and Charles' own hand.

Charles watched in delight as his roommate came down from his climax: the way he nearly choked on his own breathing, his green eyes blinking slowly, his cum glistening in the dark, his perfect lips waiting to be kissed again. Damien’s previously busy hand now rested at Charles’ thigh, tickling him delightfully.

“You’re not done yet?” Damien asked in a hoarse voice, glancing at Charles' still hard and wet member. The English boy shook his head, amazed at how long he had lasted without climaxing. He wanted everything from Damien, but he wasn’t sure if he was going to get it all in the same night.

Damien sat up and moved closer to Charles. With the smirk Charles had come to know, the taller boy looked straight into the other’s eyes and leaned over the erect cock until his lips met the tip. He widened his mouth and slid it down until Charles' entire length disappeared.

Charles threw his head back, moaning, and fell on the bed again. However, he quickly noticed the covers weren’t cold and humid anymore but warm and familiar.

He opened his eyes and found himself on the school’s bed, so close to the edge he would have fallen had he moved an inch. The wetness between his legs told him that he had came while he was dreaming. He lifted the covers to check and was thankful that he hadn’t stained the sheets, only his clothes.

He looked at his alarm clock: it was exactly 3AM, which made his throat tighten and his breath quicker. As he sat up and put his slippers on, a crow cawed in the distant. He gulped and slowly walked towards the bathroom, trying not to wake Damien up.

Once inside, he closed the door and pulled down his pants and boxers, grossed out at the sight. He twisted the knob to the left, put his clothes in the sink and let the water do its job until he decided they were clean enough, or at least not so obvious anymore. Charles looked down: his genitals and part of his left thigh were still stained with semen. Hurriedly and nervously, he grabbed some toilet paper, cleaned himself and threw the contents in the trash.

He put own clean clothes and hid the dirty ones in the corner of one of his drawers. When he was returning to the bathroom to turn off the light, he spotted the razor with which Damien shaved, above the sink, and got an idea.

Charles carefully removed the razor blade, pulled down his pants and pressed it hard against the upper part of one of his legs, just below the pelvis. He bit his lower lip and started cutting.

After a while, he stopped to look at the results: fresh blood now colored his skin, although it was a few seconds later that he pain actually took over. Charles didn't like it, but it was a better feeling than trapped in his own thoughts. He bit his lips again, trying not to make any noise as the blade cut through him once again. _I deserve this_ , he repeated to himself, focusing on the stinging sensation and the blood spurting out. He cut into his skin several times, mechanically, until he felt embraced by the pain and an odd feeling similar to happiness replaced the old fear and disgust.

He could feel his mouth twisting into a tiny smile as he put the razor blade pack in its place. He took another roll of toilet paper to clean the blood, pressing and wiping carefully.

“Dad, no…”

Charles froze. Part of him thought he had imagined it and he was still dreaming, but that voice sounded like Damien’s. He threw the blood-stained paper in the trash can, pulled up his pants and got out of the bathroom

Damien was squirming in bed, moaning softly as his head turned violently to both sides.

“Dad, no, please…” he cried out again.

Charles felt as though his heart had suddenly stopped. He stepped closer to Damien’s bed and continued to watch, unsure of what to do, what to think, what to feel.

“Dad… don’t kill me…”

Charles mouth opened and he had to leaned on the wall, catching his breath. Damien kept twisting and turning, and Charles quickly turned off the bathroom light and jumped into bed. He covered himself with the sheets and begged for Damien to wake up.

And he did so, after a while. Charles could hear Damien panting, the bed creaking, and had to close his eyes when the bathroom light blinded him. Charles didn’t dare to lower the sheets and see his roommate, so he only heard the water running and Damien’s still heavy breathing. Then it was Damien’s bare footsteps again and the sound of a phone’s dial. Charles squinted in the dark and distinguished Damien’s shadow holding the telephone from his night stand.

“Hello?” he spoke into the receiver. “Yes, it’s him… Yes, I know it’s late… I’m sorry, but… I just want to speak to my godfather… It’ll only take a while, I promise… Thanks a lot.”

There was a long pause, during with Charles waited with eyes wide opened.

“Yeah, it’s me…” Damien finally said. “I’m sorry to wake you, John, I just… Yeah… No, it was about my father this time…” Damien didn’t speak for a while, only listened and nodded. “Yes, I know he was, I just… I don’t think about it when I’m awake, I don’t know… Medication, you mean?... Ok, I’ll consider it…” There was another long pause before Damien spoke again. “Yeah, I know. Thanks for everything again, John. And sorry I wake you… Ok, I’ll see you soon. Goodnight.”


	5. Mother

"So… is your aunt still bitching about it?" Cray asked before taking a long slug of beer.

Damien dragged on his cigarette and blew smoke out before answering. "She never liked me. What are you gonna do?"

"If I were you…" Cray got into a coughing fit, after which he cleared his throat and continued. "If I were you I'd keep saving your godfather's dough and get the hell out of that house."

"Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do."

"Good. Shame you gotta spend another Christmas with them, though."

"Tell me about it," Damien said, and imitated an old lady's nagging voice: "Damien, come say hello to your cousin Howard! He has pimples all over his face and dresses like Eminem’s fat cousin!”

Cray had been cackling the entire time, holding his stomach. Damien joined him in a chuckle.

"I fucking hate the holidays,” the brown-haired boy added.

"Maybe you'll get lucky this time. Meet a chick…"

"The places they take me to, I doubt it."

After a moment of silence, during which Damien swirled his cigarette with his fingers and Cray kept drinking, Cray got on his toes and squinted at the small window on his right. "I think Powell's spying on us again."

Charles ducked but didn't move away from the trailer park. His ear was glued to it.

"Shit, really?"

"Yeah. He wants you," Cray snickered. "You should give him your delicious cock and get it over with," he continued, breaking into full laughter.

"Gross, man…”

" _Damien and Powell, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-"_

"SHUT UP!”

"You're still here?" a different voice called from outside the trailer park.

Charles turned around and saw Jimmy coming through the snow-covered grass.

"Hi…" Charles mumbled.

"You still want to hang out with them, don't you? That's why you stopped playing chess with us."

Charles sneezed and shivered for the hundredth time that night. He was wearing wool gloves and the warmest jacket from his wardrobe and still felt the cold creeping from his back up to his neck.

"Well?" Jimmy said. He rubbed his hands together and blew into them. Charles looked at the boy in front of him, once his friend, but couldn't think of anything to say. "Pathetic, that's what you are," Jimmy sentenced and walked away, his thin figure disappearing in the dark.

Charles didn’t ponder about what had just happened for long. Before he knew it, he was eavesdropping again.

"So that's how it works?" Damien was saying. "You cure your cold with booze?"

"It works for my uncle."

"That's literally the most stupid shit I've ever heard."

Cray coughed, more hoarsely and louder this time, and gobbled what Charles guessed was the rest of the beer by the sound it made when it hit the floor.

"I gotta give it to you", Cray said. "The entire fucking class gets sick and you get nothing. Just like last year."

"Weird, right?"

"Yeah. What's your secret?"

"I take my vitamins."

They laughed and didn't say anything for a while. Then Damien spoke: "I've gotta pack. It's late."

"Okay. Let's go."

There were movements inside the trailer park and soon the door creaked. Charles took a few steps back and waited until he couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore to return to school grounds. He jumped the fence moments after Damien and Cray had done so and took the familiar route around the football field. When he was at the building’s doorstep, a boy from his class yelled “Think fast, Powell!” and something icy hit him in the back of his neck. He turned around to see a group of his classmates playing with snowballs and opened the front door.

Once inside the warmth of the lobby, he took off his now wet jacket and asked the receptionist for mints. As he sucked on one, he walked closer to the wall of benefactors’ portraits on the other side of the lobby.

_John Lyons (2001 -...)_ One of the captions said. It was a man with small blue eyes and incipient gray hair. Next to them was a couple younger than the man. It read _Robert and Katherine Thorn (1980 – 1992)_.

Charles stared at the second portrait for a while and headed back to his room. When he got there, Damien was packing his clothes. Charles rubbed his fingers against his palms before opening his closet and spotting a small package in a Christmas-themed wrapping. He hesitated for a while before grabbing it and walking over to Damien.

"It's for you," he said, putting the box on Damien’s bed.

Damien frowned, glanced at Charles and down at the gift. "You didn't really… have to…"

"It's nothing, don't worry."

Damien finally unwrapped the little package. It was a camera. He blinked.

"Uh…"

"I know how much you wanted one."

"Thanks," Damien lifted his lips weakly before raising the camera up to his eyes.

Charles watched his roommate walk around the room, taking pictures of everything he could find and muttering "cool" at the end of each click. A wide smile spread through Charles' lips, and before he knew it, he was talking fast:

"You're really good. I saw your photos in the yearbook. At least now you won't need the Principal’s camera anymore, right?"

Damien didn’t answer. He put the camera back in its box and in the suitcase. He threw his pajamas inside and closed it, heading for the bathroom.

Charles finished packing just as Damien finished washing his face and brushing his teeth. Now they stood in front of each other, Damien zipping up his jacket and Charles blowing his nose. When Damien picked up his wheeled suitcase and started dragging it towards the door, Charles spoke again, this time in a nasal and hoarse voice.

"Have a nice holiday, Damien".

"Thanks," Damien said, avoiding Charles’ eyes. "You too."

He opened the door and got out.

 

 

The airport was packed with people. Charles and his father sat before the big screen with the arrivals schedule and listened to the airport voice off from time to time.. The London flight was supposed to arrive at 11 that night, and they had arrived there at nine.

"I'm going for a hamburger," Mr. Powell announced. "Want a hamburger?"

"Sure. With Coke."

"As usual," Mr. Powell smiled and left.

Charles resumed the game on his Gameboy, but paused and smiled when he remembered something. He was twelve years old and had returned home from his second Arsenal tryouts, limping and bleeding from a knee. His Ashley Cole t-shirt was covered in mud and he felt exhausted from all the running. Frowning, he crossed the doorstep, ignored his mother and sank on the couch.

"Charles…" His mother came from the kitchen and sat next to him. "Baby, what is it?"

"I'm not a baby anymore," Charles muttered, frowning even more.

"You'll always be a baby to me," his mother said, running her fingers through his hair and patting him. "I'm guessing by your anger that you didn't make it into the team." Charles looked up at his mother and didn’t need to say anything for her to understand. "Well, there'll always be another chance."

"Not for me. I'm awful compared to the others."

"Don't say that. You're a wonderful boy on your own, don't compare yourself to others."

"Really? You don't think I'm a barmpot?"

Charles' mother laughed. "A what?"

"A Scouser on my team called me that. I think it means 'idiot'".

"What nonsense! You're not an idiot at all. You're a great boy, and someday you're going to be a great man."

Charles lightened up and his mother smiled at him. "Now, let me see that knee." She started examining it. "It looks rather nasty. Is it hurting?"

"No…"

Moments later, his mother was pouring alcohol into cotton. When the mix touched Charles' wound, he whimpered loudly and immediately looked away in embarrassment, holding the pain in his face. His mother was chuckling.

"It's okay if it hurts. Nothing to be embarrassed about." She finished cleaning the wound and tapped Charles' leg. "Now, go change. I have a surprise for you when you come back."

Charles grinned. "A present?"

"Yes, a present. Aren't you a curious bird? I bought it in case you made it into the team, but I'm going to give it to you anyway."

"Thanks, Mum," Charles said, hugged his mother and ran upstairs.

"This hamburger is delicious," Mr. Powell said, bringing Charles back to the present. Chewing, his father sat next to him and gave him the other hamburger and the soda can.

"What time is it, son?”

Charles looked at his watch. "11:15".

"Let's just wait, alright?"

After they had finished eating, Mr. Powell spoke again.

"What is that?”

Charles looked at where his father was pointing, at the monitor. The flight's number and company name were still there, flashing in bright green, but in place of the arrival time there were the words "SEE AGENT" in red.

"Everyone waiting from flight 404 British Airwaves, please direct yourselves to the British Airwaves private room," the female voice-over announced. "Flight 404, British Airwaves, private room at row 36."

Charles and his father walked quickly, nearly running as they checked every row number. When they reached the room, they found a dozen people inside, some standing and others sitting behind the big, white desk.

"Everyone's here?" a middle-age man in the company's uniform said, followed by nodding from a stewardess. "Well, then." He put his hands together, with everyone watching, clenched his teeth and spoke again: "I'm Captain Holder, representative of British Airwaves in America. I'm really sorry, but we've been informed the plane has crashed half an hour ago in Queens."

There were gasps, crying fits, people shaking their heads, whispers, and then, from the back of the room…

"You must be mistaken,” Charles said loudly, his voice shaking.

"Young man… I know it's hard, but that’s what happened. We got the right information and the emergency services are on their way.”

"Are there survivors, then?" another man asked.

"I’m afraid the emergency protocols in this case are just that, protocols", the captain sighed and looked at the people in the room with sorrow. “In this type of accident, it would be a miracle to find anyone alive".

 

 

The air was chilling cold and the rain fell mercilessly from the London sky onto the landscape of green grass and black clothes of the cemetery. Charles sneezed loudly, took out a handkerchief from his pocket while trying not to drop the umbrella and blew his nose. By his side, his father sat straight as he listened to the priest, his once lively eyes now hollow and empty.

"Katherine Powell was a deeply devoted woman," the priest was speaking, next to the white casket. "A true servant of Christ, a kind soul that will be missed by those she loved and those who loved her..."

Charles was trying to fight the lump in his throat and shortness of breath with all his might. He looked at the people around them: Nicholas and Joanne sat in the second row, surrounded by more of his former classmates. His aunts and uncles had also come, bringing their children with them. Charles tried to recall the happy memories he had shared with them but his mind was blocked, seeming to be filled only with despair and powerlessness.

Suddenly, he decided he didn’t want to face the priest anymore. He got up, left the umbrella at his father’s side and started walking downhill, trying not to step on the other tombs.

"Charles!" Joanne's voiced called from behind. She ran towards Charles and hugged him, their soaking bodies shivering at the touch. "I'm so sorry…"

When the hug broke they sat on the grass. Charles set his eyes on the sky above, noticing the clouds weren’t as dark anymore and the rain drops falling on him had become lighter and scarcer.

His breathing slowed down, the lump in his throat grew bigger and he pursed his lips, trying to hold back the tears and failing. In a violent jerk, he started sobbing. He pulled his knees up tighter to his chest and buried his head between them as he felt the hot tears soaking his eyes and the rest of his face.

Joanne put an arm around Charles and pulled him in a side hug. He rested his head on her shoulder and felt her hand stroking his hair. After a while, she nestled him more closely as he continued to cry.

“Sorry…” he said and sniffed.

“Don’t be… It’s okay, it’s okay…”

For what Charles thought was a long time, both of them stayed in that position, with Joanne softly running her fingers through his hair. He cried harder than ever before in his life and thought he could never stop, but finally and slowly, he did. Taking gulps of air, he stayed in Joanne’s embrace.

“It’s better now, isn’t it?” she asked, wiping the remains of the tears with a handkerchief.

"A little…”

“You'll get through this, I promise. With God's help....”

Charles sat straight and started blowing his nose. "I ruined your dress..." he said, his voice muffled.

Joanne looked down at her shoulder. "This one? I didn't like it that much anyway."

She gave a tiny smile and Charles did the same, in spite of the pain in his heart. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket and when he looked back at Joanne, her smile had turned into one of amusement.

"You have a booger in there," she said, waving a finger at his face.

"Where?"

"There, silly," she pointed, but Charles couldn't figure out the place.

Joanne shifted closer, brushed the side of Charles' nose with her thumb and kissed him on the lips.

Charles quickly pulled away, his mouth gaping in bafflement.

"Jo…" he muttered.

"Don't you like me?" she said, and Charles could her the urgency in her tone.

"You're my friend…"

"So that’s a no…" Joanne looked down while she pushed her long blonde hair aside. She broke their hand holding. "It's okay, I shouldn't have kissed you in a moment like this…" She started pulling out at grass stumps. "It's just that I've wanted it for so long…” she said and raised her head to look at Charles. “Ever since you moved to America, I…” she stopped, staring at the grass again. “I think I'm in love with you, Shorty."

She finished her last sentence blushing and made eye contact again for a short moment, a longing look in her eyes. Charles was reminded of Clara, of how she had the same look the entire time they were partners at Church camp. He searched in his mind for words to say but couldn't find any. Instead, he started pulling out at the grass as well.

"Do you fancy someone else?" Jo asked him after a while.

"Yes," Charles answered.

"I figured as much…" Joanne said. "I'm sorry I did this today… Can we still be friends? It's not weird?"

Charles pursed his lips, considering it for a moment. "It doesn't have to be weird..." Joanne bit her lip and looked down. "You've been good to me, Jo. I mean it."

She smiled slightly. "I'll pray for your mum's soul. And for you."

"Thanks. That means a lot."

As Joanne smiled, Charles heard footsteps coming closer. He turned around and saw Nicholas, standing in his black suit and messy brown hair.

"Hey mate," he greeted, sadness in his eyes. "I was wondering where you went. They're lowering the casket." 

Charles stayed where he was and started pulling out from the grass again.

"We'll walk you if you want," Nicholas said.

"Yeah," Joanne added. 

After nodding slightly, Charles got up with the help of his friends. He quickly noticed that his limbs were still shaky and he could hardly stand, so he put a hand over Nicholas' shoulder as they began their path; Jo clasping Charles' arm in both of hers.

The walk from the tombs on the lower side of the hill to the ones where his mother would soon be resting was the longest walk of Charles’ life. His mind was numb as he pushed his way through his relatives, friends and people he didn't know. He broke into tears again when his hands reached his mother's casket. The workers stopped the lowering device for a moment, just in time for Charles to take out the single yellow rose from his shirt pocket and put it over Katherine’s final resting place. He clung to the wood, feeling the smell of the rose he had come to know so much, and was pulled away by his father's arms as the casket resumed its descent.

"Mum…"

"Charles… Charles, let go…"

Charles was trying to get rid of his father’s grip and be as close to his mother as he could one last time, but it was all over much too quickly. He suddenly found himself standing free, without his father’s grip, tears plopping down on the brown dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was incredibly heartbreaking for me to write. For a moment there I forgot the fandom I'm writing for. Damien who? (haha)


	6. Father

As soon as he and his father stepped inside the warmness of their house, Charles took off his jacket and pulled up his t-shirt’s long sleeve. He picked and pulled on the adhesive tape on his forearm until it came off, revealing a piece of blood-stained cotton and a rounded red scar on his skin. He went to throw the wastes in the thrash and returned to the living room, where his father was watching the morning news.

"I'm going to the chapel, dad," he said as he put his jacket back on.

Mr. Powell turned to his son. "Charles, you just got home. Besides, isn't it too cold outside?"

"It's fine."

"Alright. But first…" Charles' father got up from the couch and stood before his son. "Empty your pockets."

"I'm not taking anything."

"Charles…"

Charles did as he was told, putting his keys and a few dollar bills into his father's hands. In between them, a razor blade fell down. The boy opened his mouth but Mr. Powell was quicker.

“Is this what your mother would have wanted for you?”

“No, but… That's from when I was committed. I haven’t used it since December.” His father’s eyes pierced him. “I’m not lying”, Charles ended.

Mr. Powell sighed and gave the money and keys back to his son.

"Fine. Come back early, okay?"

"Okay dad," Charles headed for the door. "See you later!"

 

 

The chapel was quiet and almost empty, except for the priest and the altar boys cleaning the utensils they had used in the Mass. Charles walked in shyly, focusing his eyes on the priest so that he’d notice Charles wanted a word with him.

The priest spotted the boy standing at the nave, between the two groups of seats, and motioned for his altar boys to leave. When they had crossed a door at the right corner, the priest stepped down the sanctuary and approached Charles. He was younger than Father Atkins and moved faster.

"I'm Father Ritter," he said when they were face to face. “And you are?"

"Charles. I live around the corner."

The priest smiled slightly. “What brings you here, boy?"

"I was hoping I could talk to you… about… things that happened to me lately."

"Ah. Spiritual guidance?"

Charles nodded before saying: "Can I have your blessing first, Father?

"Sure, sure."

Father Ritter made the sign of the cross and placed a hand over Charles', who kneeled slightly and kissed it.

When they were done with the ritual, they sat at the first row, in front of the icons. Charles noticed that the chapel used a different rage of colors than the one in London, which was nearly all white.

"Very well…" the priest spoke. "What happened, Charles?"

"My mother died," Charles said under his breath. "Three weeks ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Father Ritter placed his hand on Charles' upper back.

"And I've started thinking about it, and… It's my fault. She died because of me."

Charles felt a knot on his throat and bit his lip to stop himself from tearing up. The priest was frowning.

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm a sinner. I've disappointed God and He took my mother away."

They didn't say anything for a moment. Father Ritter had withdrawn his hand and was looking at Charles compassionately.

"What's the sin?"

Charles’ hands fidgeted for a moment. "Thoughts,” he finally blurted out. “Filthy thoughts. Things I shouldn't be thinking about."

"How old are you, Charles?"

"Fifteen."

"Then those thoughts are normal for your age. As long as you haven't acted out on them yet… You're still pure?"

Charles smiled bittersweetly and looked down at his own hands, which couldn’t stop moving. "It's as if I wasn't. I've been having thoughts about…" He took a deep breath. "About another boy. I’ve tried to stop but…"

He fell quiet, keeping his head down out of fear of the priest’s reaction.

"You haven't acted out on those thoughts, haven't you?"

Charles shook his head and looked at the man beside him. His eyes showed a kind of compassion and understanding Charles hadn’t seen in another adult in months.

"Then you can still be saved,” Father Ritter continued, placing a hand on Charles’ back for the second time. “Listen, I've done exorcisms in Mexico, in Jerusalem, seen things you'd never imagine, real evil. What you have can be cleaned away, don't worry. You're a good kid, Charles, I can tell." The priest’s hand moved to where Charles’ heart was. "You're not going to hell."

Charles breathed a sigh of relief and drew out a tiny smile.

"You can clean my sins away?”

"Yes, it's a simple process. You just need to be completely relaxed and willing to heal. God will do the rest.”

"Okay. Can it be done today?"

"Sure. I have some free hours. Come with me, to the sacristy."

They walked towards another room, this time on the left corner of the chapel. Inside there were communion cups, clergy stoles and robes and some candles scattered about the floor and tables of various sizes.

"Let's begin," the priest announced as he closed the door.

"W-where?"

"I'll wipe this table so you can lie on it."

Charles looked at the table. It was only large enough to fit someone his size. When it was clear of all objects, he climbed over and laid on it.

"No, no," Father Ritter said from the opposite side of the room, where he took narrow glass bottles out of an old closet. "You need to be completely pure for the ritual. Take off your clothes, please."

Charles stood still.

"Are you cold?" the priest.

"Yeah, I actually got pneumonia recently."

Father Ritter took out two more bottles and put them next to the other ones, on another table next to him.

"The process won't take long," he said. "Don't worry."

Charles sat up on the table and started undressing until he got to his underwear. He was lying down again when he heard the priest speaking:

"Full nudity, please."

Charles gaped at the priest, his breath running short. "Why?" he asked, louder than he had meant to.

Father Ritter finally turned around, a bottle hands. "It's what the ritual requires. Complete purity."

Hesitantly, Charles pulled down his underwear and put it on the floor, in the pile where the rest of his clothes were. When he laid on the table again, he felt glad the fading scars on his arm were hardly visible now.

The priest approached Charles, crossed himself and did the same over the boy’s face. He then poured the contents of one bottle onto Charles' abdomen.

"Are these oils?" Charles asked, noticing the nice smell.

"Yes," Father Ritter answered. "They'll help you relax."

The priest started spreading the slippery oils, first through the boy's abdomen and then moving upwards to his chest and pectorals. After a while of brushing Charles' torso in all directions, Father Ritter touched both nipples, squeezing them first and then rubbing them in circles. Charles jerked and flinched, trying to break free of the priest's touch and realizing at the same time that his penis was half-erect.

“Don’t move now, this is for your own good…” The priest said as he continued to rub Charles’ nipples. He looked into the boy’s eyes. “Do you know why you like what I'm doing?” Charles glanced away at the wall on the left, where various crucifixes hang. “It’s because you're a sinner. But don’t worry, we’re all sinners."

The priest left Charles’ nipples and focused on his abdomen again and chest again, the fingers running smoothly on the oiled skin. A creeping cold had installed on Charles’ back and nausea took over him.

Suddenly, Father Ritter stopped his movements and started praying, but the whispers were so soft Charles couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“There’s a lot of impurity here,” the man said. “But once it comes out of you, you'll be healed for good."

The priest’s hands resumed his work. Charles quivered and coughed for a few seconds.

"Will I really heal?" he asked.

"Of course. You’re a child of God. He cares about you."

Father Ritter moved down to Charles' pelvis, scratching his pubic hair and cupping his testicles. Charles jerked up and shifted as far away as he could from the priest, realizing in fear just how small the table was.

"What's the matter, boy?" The priest looked at him, some pubic hair stuck to his greasy hands. "Don't you want to finish your healing process?"

Charles said nothing. He looked at his now fully erect and wet penis, and then at a painting of Christ next to the door.

“We’re almost done here. I'll finish with your head and face, actually, and then you’ll be pure. Come on, lay down."

Reluctantly, Charles did as he was told. Father Ritter rubbed his hands with more oil and bent over to spread it over Charles' forehead, temples, cheeks and jaw. He repeated the process two more times before pressing his lips against Charles’.

The boy’s eyes widened. He clenched his fists and twisted his head violently to the left.

"Don't resist, boy,” the man said in short sighs. He took Charles by the chin so that they were face to face again. "This is God's love manifesting through me. God loves you. Remember that, okay?"

Father Ritter kissed him again, this time breaking the boy’s resistance and sliding his tongue inside. His free hand moved down the young body and grabbed Charles’ penis, stroking it.

There was a knock on the door. "Father Ritter?" a teen male voice came from the other side.

The priest quickly let go of Charles and looked around in panic. "Yes, this is him! What do you want?" He yelled shakily and started putting the oil bottles back in the closet.

"I'm here to pick up a friend! I saw him enter the chapel. He forgot we were supposed to have lunch at my parents."

"Okay. We're coming right up!" The priest yelled back, picked up Charles clothes from the floor and threw them at him.

When Charles was done pulling up his underwear, the other boy spoke again.

"Everything alright, Father?"

"Yes, all--"

The boy had opened the door. He took one glance at Charles' half naked body on the table, grabbed the rest of his clothes and said: "Come on, let's go."

They ran until they reached the nave, where Charles clumsily put on his pants and shirt. Looking around the empty seats, he saw no sign of Father Ritter.

"Jacket and shoes in the car," the other boy ordered. "Hurry!"

They ran outside the chapel, where a blue Audi was parked. The stranger opened the front doors, let himself and Charles in and drove off fast.

"Shit..." he said, looking in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay? Did he touch you?" He glanced at Charles, who couldn’t answer and instead trembled as he tied his shoes. "You're pale... That piece of shit Ritter…"

Charles kept quiet, trying to regain the air he had lost at the sacristy. He was sweating cold and felt even more nauseous and dizzy than before. After he had zipped up his jacket, he leaned on the car's window and closed his eyes.

"Should I pull over? You wanna puke?"

Charles still couldn’t form a word, but the car stopped anyway. He opened the door and vomited over the sidewalk. When he was done, he breathed out and looked up: they were at another suburb that had almost the same look and feel of his own neighborhood.

"Thank you,” he said and closed the door. The car started again and advanced at the same speed as before.

"No problem," Adrian said. "I did the same thing for another kid last week. Told the sick fuck I had my cousin in there," he chuckled. "I'm Adrian, by the way."

"Charles."

Adrian turned for a moment to look at him. "You go to Preston Hall, right?"

"Yeah. How do you know?"

"I'm a senior there. Saw you the first day of school, when Connor messed with you… Sorry about that, by the way."

The car turned right into a corner and Adrian slowed down.

"I was going to intervene," he continued, "but you know," he pointed at his own face, "black." Adrian’s mouth twisted into a smirk. "The last time I tried to stop Connor I got detention. It was lovely. He called me a nigger when the Principal wasn’t looking and when I got home I had to listen to my old man lecture me about how important it was for me to stay at Preston and all that bullshit. Can’t mess with senators’ white kids anymore.”

Adrian chuckled and pulled over by a three-story house with a colorful garden.

"This is my place," he said, turning the engine off. "I thought you might need a shower. But I can drive you to your house if you want."

"A shower would be nice."

Adrian smiled. They got out of the car and walked towards the front door.

"I have dry clothes from my younger brother you can use."

"Really?"

"Yeah, no problem."

Adrian rang the bell and an adult opened the door. He pushed his glasses up and looked at both boys.

"What's going on, son?" he asked.

"Oh, this is Charles. From school. He needs a shower."

Adrian's father looked at the younger boy. "Have you been sick, Charles?"

Charles nodded. "Pneumonia. But I'm alright now. Got released this morning."

"Okay. Come on in, boys."

They stepped inside and Adrian immediately pointed upstairs.

"You can shower in my room. I have the clothes on the opposite room. Take whatever you want."

"Thanks. Really, thanks a lot," Charles started walking upstairs.

"Hey, to serve is to honor, right?" Adrian laughed.

 

 

Charles had finished changing into a new t-shirt, underwear and jacket, though still keeping his jeans and tennis shoes. He grabbed a wooden stick and poked at the puddle of mud where the rest of his clothes soaked into.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Adrian had come through the back door, an amused smile on his face.

“I’m not telling my dad what happened,” Charles explained. “I’ll just say I fell into mud.”

Adrian stood beside him. “He wouldn’t believe you?” Charles shook his head. “What about your mom?”

“She’s dead.”

“Sorry. 9/11?”

“No. The Queens plane crash.”

“Ah, I remember that one. My big sister died on 9/11. It was… well, as horrible as you can imagine it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It's been rough on all of us. My mom still cries about it.”

Charles lifted the clothes with the stick and put them over the grass. He liked the smell of mud a little, and he was relieved they no longer smelled of oils and precum.

“You’re probably right, though,” Adrian spoke again. “Ritter is kind of an institution around here. He’s baptized kids all his life, done fucking charity and community work and all that crap. No one would believe me either. He also works for the Vatican, so… I need some evidence before I turn him over. Gonna grab my camera next time I drive by that chapel.”

Adrian helped Charles put the clothes into an old school bag, zipped it close and gave it to him. They walked out of the garden and into the house, reaching a hallway with family portraits hanging off the walls.

"That’s my sis,” Adrian pointed at a photograph of a girl in her twenties, wearing a graduation gown. “She was really cool,” he checked on his watch. “Anyway. I should probably take you to your house. Where do you live?”

"About a block away from the chapel. I'll show you once we get there."

“Alright. Let’s go.”

 

Adrian parked his car a house away from Charles’. The younger boy squinted at his place’s windows, making sure his father wasn’t near them.

“I still don’t get why you made me park here,” Adrian said.

“It’s better if my dad doesn’t see you. Don’t want him asking too many questions.”

“Okay.”

Charles got out of the car, bag in one hand, and felt the chilling air. He coughed.

"Are you coming back to school soon?" Adrian asked. "Is your pneumonia really gone?"

"Yeah,” Charles said, bending over the window. “I'll be back tomorrow."

"Awesome. See you around, then.”

Charles smiled, nodded and walked away from the car.


	7. Goodbye, horses

Charles stumbled across the corridor, trying not to drift into sleep again. Everytime his eyes closed he could feel Father Ritter’s beard grazing against his face, the greasy hands holding him prisoner and the various figures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary watching it all, motionless. In the nightmares Charles screamed, _Please, stop. Don’t touch me_ , but his voice was muted. _All sinners like you love this_ , Father Ritter whispered in response.

“What’s the matter, Powell?”

Jared was standing in front of him, in basketball uniform, smirking.

“Miss your mommy?”

Charles slipped a hand down his pocket and threw a razor blade at Jared, cutting him in the forehead. Jared grimaced and felt the blood with his fingers.

“The fuck is wrong with you? I was just kidding…”

Charles had picked up the razor and now held it against Jared’s neck. “Bugger off before I slice your throat.”

Jared stared at Charles in bafflement. “Okay, man, we’re cool…” He took a step back. “I’m leaving…”

Charles watched him walk up and go into his room. He cleaned the blood stains from his razor, put it back in its pocket and headed downstairs. Once outside the school building, the late sunset rays hit him in the face as he found Damien and the rest of the football team practicing in the field. At the grandstands, groups of students were scattered about, talking. Only Adrian stood alone, at the top right corner, between two Rottweilers.

He waved at Charles, who waved back and walked towards him. When he was two stands below Adrian, Charles stopped and looked at the dogs.

“Mr. Kripke got bit by a dog here,” Charles remembered.

“Really? In the building?”

Charles nodded. The animals began wagging their tales and approached Charles, rubbing their heads against his legs.

“They like you,” Adrian smiled.

“Uh…”

Still hesitantly, Charles moved a hand to pet one of them on the head, to which the dog licked his hand in response. Smiling in surprise, Charles climbed the two missing stares and sat next to Adrian. They said nothing for a while, both staring into the scenery before them: the football game, students practicing on the running tracks, the grandstand on the other side. Charles only had eyes for Damien, who seemed to be having the most fun out of all the other teammates.

“Do you believe in God?” Charles asked all of a sudden.

“Technically, yes,” Adrian replied.

“Technically?”

Adrian did a dismissive hand gesture. “I don’t wanna get into it much. Why, why do you ask?”

“I just don’t understand…” Charles said as Damien was tackled by a rival and laughed. “Why would God allow my mother to die while he… I mean, Ritter… lives on. Why does he let a servant of His do what he did to me?”

Adrian smiled slyly, to which Charles frowned. “Sorry,” the black boy said. “I don’t mean to make fun of you… It’s just that you’re asking what a lot of people ask themselves all the time.” He paused while Charles dug into the other’s eyes for answers. “I don’t know, though… I think it’s what they call ‘mysterious ways’”, he chuckled.

Charles frowned again. “So that’s it?”

Adrian pulled one of the dogs closer to him and started scratching its head. “Wanna know what I really think? God is a tyrant. He does things that don’t make sense and we’re supposed to play along.”

Charles didn’t know what to say, so he looked at the field again. The team had taken a break and gathered in a circle while they drank water.

“But things will pick up,” Adrian said. “We’re really lucky, you and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“These babies started hanging around the school when I was on ninth grade,” Adrian said, patting one of the dogs. “I’ve never fed them. They just keep coming back. And I think---“

Someone screamed, a big “no” coming from a younger male voice. Charles and Adrian stood up and spotted Connor, Martin and his other friends at the running track next to the school building, pushing a 12-year-old looking boy around.

“That piece of shit…” Adrian murmured.

While the students in the grandstands stepped down and walked towards the running track, Charles could hear them talking.

“I heard that kid’s a hermaphrodite…”

“Really? And they want to check if he has a pussy?”

“Okay, that’s pretty funny.”

“He’s only on the seventh grade. You guys are jerks.”

A big mass of students had gathered around the scene. Connor knocked the kid down and tried to pull his pants down, but the latter spit on him and escaped, going for the lobby’s front door and entering the building. Soon everyone else was following him and his bullies, running up until they reached the rooftop.

Charles was panting when they got there. He clenched his fists at the scene: Martin holding the kid by the armpits while Connor and the others laughed.

“Come on, show us your junk,” Connor said, unzipping the kid’s pants while the latter didn’t stop tossing. “What do you have to hide?”

“Please let me go. I won’t tell a teacher if you---“

Connor laughed harder. “No teachers here, freak.”

Charles felt a push behind him and turned around: everyone was looking back and moving away from the staircase. Damien emerged from the crowd, still on his football uniform but without a helmet.

“Hey, asshole,” he said to Connor, “why don’t you pick---HEY!”

The kid had slipped out of Martin’s grip and was running towards the end of the roof. Damien ran after him and tugged him by the shirt just when he was about to jump. They struggled for a while, the kid doing his best to take a step closer to the edge and Damien pulling him in. The older boy finally embraced him from behind, to which the kid let out a piercing, animal-like scream that made Charles’ hair stand on end.

“ _Et moriar! Et moriar!_ ” he shouted while trying to liberate himself.

Charles’ heart jumped. He understood the exact meaning of those words: _Let me die_. He turned to his right and saw Adrian squinting but not nearly as scared as Charles was. On his left, Cray watched with a frown and a gaped mouth before running off.

At the edge of the roof, the kid kicked hard and said something else, speaking so fast Charles couldn’t make out the words. He was sure, however, that it wasn’t English or anything resembling it.

Damien took momentum, lifted the kid from the edge and put him down on the ground, where he tossed and whispered the same words over and over with his eyes closed. Damien patted him on the head as he uttered soft shushes, and a moment later, the kid dropped quiet and stopped moving.

“Is he dead?” a student shouted.

Damien didn’t answer. His widened eyes stared at the smaller body on the ground and he breathed heavily through flared nostrils. Slowly, the kid’s chest went up and down. He seemed to have fallen into deep sleep.

In that moment a teacher walked into the scene.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, approaching Damien and the kid.

“Connor made him want to jump!” someone shouted.

“I didn’t! That’s such---“

“Yeah, but Damien stopped him.”

“Yeah.”

“Is this true, Webber?” the teacher asked, turning to the blonde boy.

“I was just kidding with him, sir. We were just messing around, right, Martin? I don’t know why he tried to---“

“Principal’s office, Webber. Now! And go to your dormitories, the rest of you.”

As everyone else headed downstairs, Charles stood there, watching the younger kid laying so still no one would have known he had been screaming just moments ago. When a still shook up Damien and the teacher lift him up, Charles turned to Adrian, but he wasn’t there anymore.

 

Damien’s brand new CD had been playing in the dormitory for nearly twenty minutes now. Charles, already tucked in bed, glanced at the nightstand where his First Communion photograph used to be, adjusted the time on his alarm clock and rolled over to see Damien changing into his pajamas.

_You’re amazing, Damien. The way you saved that kid… No one asked you to, and you did. I wish you’d do the same for me, when the others are taunting or punching me. Why don’t you ever stick up for me? I’m always here for you. I stood by your side when you were having nightmares, when you called out for your mum. I know she’s dead, and I know you miss her. I don’t judge you for it like your friends would. I’d do anything for you, always._

“Stop staring at me.”

“I’m not.”

“Like hell you aren’t. Creep…”

Damien stopped the music, got into bed and turned his back on Charles, who sighed softly and continued to watch his roommate until he fell asleep.

 

 

Mr. Powell pulled his car in front of a white, four-story house with a yard and a pool that could be seen from the outside.

“Seven o’clock,” he said, looking at his watch. Charles sighed and put his jacket’s hood over his head. “Just do your part, alright, Charles? It’s only one project… If it doesn’t work out, you can talk to the teacher.”

“Yeah, I know,” Charles said and opened the car door.

“Charles…” the boy closed the door and looked at his father. “Is something wrong? You’ve been acting odd lately.”

“I’m fine.”

“I miss your mother too, you know.”

Charles nodded. “I know. But I’m fine, really. I just have a lot of schoolwork lately.”

“So, just school stress?”

Charles nodded and smiled apologetically.

“Alright. Go. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

Charles breathed out in relief and got out. “Okay.”

Connor’s mother greeted Charles with a smile and apologies about the house’s mess, of which Charles didn’t see any trace. She then guided him through the hallway and into the living room, where a big television stood in front of a large couch and a glass table.

“Connor will be back any minute now,” the lady said. “You can watch tv in the meantime, if you want. I made cookies.”

“Okay,” Charles said, looking down at the tray of cookies on the table. “Thanks, Mrs. Webber.”

Charles sat down and turned the tv on while Connor’s mother walked away. He flipped the channels until he was bored and almost turned the device off.

“You’re here early.”

The voice made Charles instantly uncomfortable. He tried to fake a smile as he turned around.

“Hi, Connor.”

“I have all the stuff in the other room. Let’s go.”

When Charles was getting up, a little girl of about five years old was standing next to the staircase. She was blonde, like Connor, and wore a white dress.

“Hi,” Charles said. The girl waved, smiled but didn’t say anything.

“She’s deaf,” Connor said. “Let’s go.”

Connor turned the tv off and they walked past the staircase. The girl stopped Charles by the arm and signaled something, but Connor cut her off mid-sentence.

“Go away, Nicole,” he gesticulated, joined by a swift hand movement.

The girl looked at both boys for a while and ran off, leaving them to walk towards the next room. It had a desk, sofas and a library at the back. Over the desk there were test tunes, plastic bottles with dirt on them and seeds over a fold of toilet paper. Charles looked through the glass doors on his left: a big swimming pool shone in the night.

“Ok,” Connor said. “Hold the tube while I put the dirt in.”

As Charles did so, Connor started giggling.

“You’ve had a lot of practice, haven’t you?”

“Sod off.”

A cellphone beeped softly. Connor took it out of its pocket and looked at the screen. “I’m going out for a while,” he said and Charles glared at him. “What? I’ll be back. You have my notes over there. Have fun, smartass.”

Connor walked out of the house, leaving Charles reading the notes on a piece of paper. He followed what they said for a while, then sighed, leaned back on the chair and looked out the glass doors before him: The water in the big swimming pool shone a bright shade of blue. Nicole came into view, walking around the pool with a doll in her hands.

Charles’ eyes drifted towards the project. He filled the other tubes with dirt up to the half, dropped seeds on top and looked out the glass doors again. The little girl was sitting atop of the highest springboard, brushing the doll’s hair and playing with it. Suddenly the doll slipped out of her hands and she slid farther on the platform to reach it. When was about to grab the doll, her small knee slid off, making a creaking sound before she fell down into the water.

Charles quickly ran out of the room and stopped at the edge of the pool. Nicole was kicking, flapping her arms and trying to keep her head above the water, which kept filling her small mouth even as she spit it out. As she tried to pull herself up, she looked at Charles with teary eyes. Her muted screaming was clear: _Help_.

He squatted and continued to watch Nicole, who choked on more water. She sank and pulled herself up a few times before descending deep into the water, the colors of her dress and hair slowly fading away. Charles stayed where he was, staring into the water, until he got up.

He went back into the house and glanced at the science project for a while before heading for the living room, where he turned the tv on and sat on the couch.

Charles remembered that movie scene as if it was yesterday. He was around five or six years old, at his older cousin’s house, when the body bag was zipped down and Charles suddenly covered his eyes and ran out of the room. He remembered his cousin chuckling, “Come on, Charles, come back!”, but Charles never came back. He stayed in the living room, playing with trains until the movie was over. He then had to hear his cousin say to him “it places the trains in the basket” several times. Little Charles looked up, confused, and his cousin chuckled everytime.

And now it was right before him, on the screen. Charles’ hands clenched to the couch’s leather in anticipation until he finally saw it: the woman’s dead arm and hand were sullied, dirty, her nails broken. Charles leaned over the tray and grabbed one of Mrs. Webber’s cookies, chewing and swallowing as one of the men grabbed tweezers and took out a sticky bug from out of the victim’s open mouth. A few moments later Charles saw it in full: the face-down corpse, looking even more defiled than its hands, with tear-shaped pieces of skin removed from the legs and a back full of more, larger cuts.

Charles laid on the couch while eating cookies until he heard the front door clicking and sat up. Connor stepped in and following him was Josh, the boy who had made Charles swallow toilet paper.

“Why the fuck are you watching TV?” Connor snapped.

Charles didn’t answer right away. The girl’s screams and the little dog’s loud barking on the tv were taking all of his attention.

“I got bored,” he finally said.

Connor grabbed the remote and turned the tv off.

“Is the project ready?” he asked.

“Only half.”

Josh chuckled. “Little Powell’s asking for a beat up.”

“Let’s just go finish it,” Connor said. “It’s your grade too, midget.”

The three of them went to the studio, where Connor looked at the notes before asking.

“Where’s my sister, Powell?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her.”

Connor grunted and went to open the glass doors, followed by Josh. Meanwhile, Charles lifted the piece of paper and pretended to read.

“Where the hell did she go?” Connor looked around.

“Dude…” Josh said, looking down at the water.

Charles watched as both friends got into the swimming pool and brought the little girl’s body up to the ground. Connor kneeled before her and pressed on her chest several times before checking her pulse.

“Nicole… No…”

He put an ear to her sister's chest and his eyes started welling up. From the other side of the glass doors, Charles' lips twisted into a tiny smile. After a moment, he composed himself and joined the others outside. He glanced down at the lifeless body and squatted to brush her cheek with his knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Connor,” he muttered.

Still on his knees, Connor glared at Charles and said in a shaky voice, “You did this, didn’t you? You piece of shit!”

In a second, Connor had Charles against the ground and was squeezing his neck. Charles looked at the blonde boy’s eyes but didn’t fight against him.

“What’s going on here?” Connor’s mother shouted from the distance. “Leave your friend alone, Connor!”

Connor got off of Charles. His teeth were clenched and contained tears filled up his eyes.

“Nicole?” the lady said, and as Charles sat up, he saw her cradling her daughter’s body. “Nicole, please…” She burst into tears.

“She’s dead,” Connor said hoarsely. “Powell killed her.”

“I was watching TV!” Charles shouted, then looked at Connor’s mother. “I swear, I was working on the project and then I went to watch TV. I didn’t see her”.

Sniffing and with soaked eyes, Mrs. Webber looked at Charles and then at his son.

“Where were you, Connor?”

“I went out for a while,” Connor stuttered.

“With him?” His mother’s head pointed at Josh, who was staring at the dead body and seemed to be in a trance. “You were supposed to take care of her! I can’t believe…”

Mrs. Webber broke into sobs again as she brushed her daughter’s hair.

“And where were _you_ , mom?”

“Why does that matter?! I specifically told you to watch Nicole!”

Mrs. Webber’s sobs filled the silence until Josh called 911. While he was on the phone, a car’s lights hit the streets behind the pool.

“I think my dad’s here,” Charles said.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Connor said.

“Connor, please,” Mrs. Webber said, her clothes soaked with water. “Charles hasn’t done anything,” she looked at the English boy. “Go, boy, go.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Webber. I wish I’d have---”

After a series of quick breaths, Connor’s mother shook her head. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.”

Charles took a few steps towards the inside of the house, stopped and looked at Connor, who stood next to his mother. The blond boy turned around and glared at Charles.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said. “Don’t worry about the project. I’ll talk to Mr. Carlson.”

He turned on his feet and walked away. Once at the big living room and before he had to face his father, Charles started whistling to the dark and infectiously danceable beat of the song he had heard at one of the movie scenes. For some reason, he seemed to only remember the chorus. _Goodbye, horses, I’m flying over you_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with the chapter title for a while, but in the end it's such a perfect song for Charles at this stage of the story. The Silence of the Lambs thing was actually something I didn't plan, it just came to me while I was writing the chapter. I hope I got the scenes/details right, it's been a while since I watched it.
> 
> Apologies for the length in this one, I don't know what the hell possessed me. If you've followed the fanfic up to here and like it, just know that I love you forever. Now put the fuckin' kudos in the basket!! Hahaha :')


	8. Bad Boys Go Everywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like Charles Powell's fucking novella at this point, so I don't blame you (whoever's actually reading this) if you stop reading. I actually have no idea why this chapter came out this long, it just did, but it was very enjoyable to write.
> 
> It probably has typos and other mistakes because of the length and because I've been a little too sick to proofread this time. I'll go back and edit once I'm feeling better.
> 
> This chapter is probably the one with the most pop culture references of the 90s/2000s, so sorry if you were born too late ;).

Charles and Adrian stood in the garden, outside Nicole’s wake.

“You didn’t have to come,” Charles said in a low voice, trying to blend in the whispers coming from his classmates inside the house.

“I know. I just thought you’d like some company. I know you were there when… when the stuff happened.”

“Hmm.”

Charles looked back at the living room, where the small white casket was opened and three crucifixes hang in the back wall. In that moment Damien stormed out, holding his stomach. He stumbled away from both boys and vomited over the left corner of the garden. Once he was done and had his hands on his knees, Jared came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Damien?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just… I really don’t like these things. Funerals.”

Jared looked at him for a while. "Wanna go upstairs? Heard Connor has some sweet games on his PS2."

"Okay... Let's go."

The two of them walked inside the house.

Charles waited until they weren't on sight anymore and spoke.

“Don’t you think he deserved it?”

“What? I can’t hear—“

“Don’t you think Connor deserved it?” Charles repeated, slightly louder, taking advantage of the momentary buzz created by the student's louder conversations.

“Probably,” Adrian answered. “But she was just a little kid, you know. It wasn’t her fault her brother was an asshole.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right… I heard he’s leaving the school anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, you gotta stop smiling like that, it’s really creepy.”

“What? Something good came out of this and I can’t be happy?”

Adrian hummed with pursed lips. “Hey, wanna come to my birthday party? We deserve a break after all this shit…”

“Is it your birthday? When?”

“Next Sunday. I turn eighteen. Are you coming?”

Charles thought about it. The smell of tobacco still made him cough, and he didn't like what everyone else listened to.

“There’ll be lots of girls,” Adrian added, to which Charles shrugged. “Okay, guys too, if you’re into that.”

Charles turned his head, his eyes widened. “I-I’m not”.

Adrian chuckled. “It’s okay if you are. Really, I don’t care. You’re cool.”

Charles smiled in the dark. “Alright. What kind of music will you put out?”

"Mostly electronic, dance, you know, club music. Oh, and alternative rock here and there... You comin'?"

"Uh..."

“If it helps, there'll only be like three people from Preston and all of them are seniors. So no one will mess with you.”

Charles smiled heartily. “What time?”

“Eleven, give or take.”

 

 

The music was catchy, plastic, made gritty and sensual by the female singer. Charles walked through Adrian’s big garden and among the crowds of teenagers, most of them older than him and some his age, all of them dancing, talking, making out, drinking or a combination of them. Even though the big pool on the center was closed for the winter, some boys and girls still played drinking games at the edge. Charles began to feel peculiar, being the only person without company there. He sniffed his jacket to check if he had applied the right amount of cologne and stepped inside the living room.

Everything had been replaced to turn the place into an capacious dancefloor, complete with multicolored lights that made seeing more difficult. A DJ scratched records over a sound equipment and bartenders prepared drinks at the open bar on the right side of the room. The crowd was larger than in the garden, and there was a strong mix of cigarettes, beer and sweat smell in the air. Just when Charles was walking forward, a couple of boys came into frame, kissing heavily as they rushed for left side of the house, where the bedrooms were. Charles mouth flew open. He turned to his right and saw a straight couple dry-humping.

He walked towards the open bar and stayed there, studying the myriad of drinks and tapping his foot to the music. He sat down on one of the stools.

"What can I help you with?" the young woman behind the counter asked.

"I''d like some, uh... whiskey."

The bartender smiled and looked up at Charles. 

"Manhattan? Sazerac? Sour?"

"Manhattan."

Charles tapped his fingers on the counter for a moment until the drink was ready. He then took the cocktail glass and started gobbling the contents into his mouth. He couldn't finish the drink, for the burning inside him was so intense he had to grab to the counter as his eyes tightened and opened again.

When he had recovered, he noticed he was feeling more relaxed and a bit happier. He turned around to check what was going on in the party.

And that's when Charles spotted him. Long bangs of black hair partially hid the light olive tone of his skin as he bent over to talk to the DJ. When he straightened up and started talking to a girl on his left, Charles could see him more clearly: he was tall, around six feet, and eyes green as dark emeralds below the thick eyebrows. He kept on talking until he suddenly turned to meet Charles’ gaze, lips curving into a smile as he did so. The short eye contact made Charles’ cheeks flush red and he looked away, suddenly interested in a drinking contest taking place to his left.

He counted the seconds in his mind until he thought it was safe to stare at the boy again. He was talking to two more girls and another boy now and had a drink in his hand. Charles palms sweated, his chest was fluttering, and he turned around just in time.

Charles walked out of the house as fast as he could and leaned on one of the front windows, trying to regain his breath.

“Hi.”

In complete horror, Charles realized the other boy was standing next to him, but he couldn’t move his feet.

“I saw you watching me,” the stranger continued in a slight accent Charles couldn’t recognize. “It’s okay, I kinda was watching you too.”

The boy smiled flirtatiously, making Charles smile back and blush a brighter shade of red. For a few seconds they couldn’t keep their eyes away from each other, until a bartender stopped before them and offered the drinks from a tray. Charles took a random glass and drank it, making a face when the unfamiliar liquor burned his throat.

The other boy was grinning.

“You’re cute,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Charles.”

“I’m Sergi. I’m from Spain.”

“You’re what?”

“From Spain.”

“No, I meant—“

Sergi laughed. “Sergi. Something like Ser-gee for you.” They smiled at each other again. “You’re British?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

“Your English is nice.”

“Yeah, my dad is American.”

Another bartender showed up.

“You should probably start with rum,” Sergi said, taking a slug of a tea-colored drink from the tray. He then handed a similar one to Charles. “Here.”

Charles drank it slowly, noticing it didn’t burn as much as the others.

“Good, huh?”

Charles nodded.

After they shared smiles, they finished their drinks, put the empty glasses on the tray and walked inside the house. Sergi showed Charles the panic room where an employee saved the guests' coats and jackets and Charles left his jacket there, with a number on a card he put in his pocket. Next they returned to the living room and stood at the open bar.

“Are you an interchange student?” Charles shouted over the music.

Sergi nodded. “Yeah. You too?”

“No, I moved here months ago.”

“What?”

Charles leaned closer, feeling Sergi’s cologne fill up his nostrils, and repeated in the boy’s ear: “I moved here in September.”

“Ah. You’re friends with Adrian too?”

“Yeah. We go to Preston together.”

Sergi drank some more and frowned.

“But you’re not a senior.”

“And you’re sure because I’m short?” Charles said with a teasing smile.

“Yeah, are you on the seventh grade or something?” Sergi teased back and they chuckled.

“I’m fifteen, actually.”

“Cool. Seventeen here.”

Charles was trying to keep his cool as Sergi turned around and ordered a drink. As he drank in silence and watched the action in the dancefloor, Charles wanted to jump on him.

"Hey, Serjay?"

Sergi almost spit his drink, laughing. "It's Sergi".

Charles breathed quickly in nervousness. "Spanish is difficult."

"It's Catalan".

Sergi laughed at Charles' panicked and confused face. "Where I come from," he said, "we speak both Spanish and Catalan. My name is Catalan. I can teach you how to say it."

"Alright".

"But come closer so we can hear better."

Charles walked closer. He got lost into Sergi's eyes and was interrupted by his voice. "Alright. It's Sehr-gee, with emphasis on 'Sehr'."

"Sehr...gee. Is that right?"

"Uh-huh. Now together. Sergi."

"Sergi".

"Close enough," Sergi nodded and smiled. "Never heard my name with a British accent... sounds kinda cool... So, were you saying?"

“Right. How do you know Adrian?”

“I’m living opposite him. Sometimes we…” Sergi’s voice faded into the music.

“What?”

“We play basketball together on the weekends,” Sergi continued in Charles ear, making him tingle. “Wanna dance?”

“I… I don’t dance.”

“I don’t either,” Sergi said with a smile. “Not much, I mean. But Modjo is cool, don’t you think?”

Charles followed the beat with his head. "Yeah, it is."

They hit the dancefloor. Charles mimicked Sergi's moves, bouncing his knees and down while moving his torso to both sides. Sergi smiled widely and at times closed his eyes to enjoy the beat, something that spread over to Charles, making his lips smile and his heart pound faster. As the songs went on, they got closer and could feel each other’s quick breaths and the slick sweat gliding down their skin. Their eyes locked several times before Sergi pulled Charles closer for a kiss.

The touch swept Charles off his feet. He could hardly contain all the emotions running through him when he opened his mouth and Sergi's taste embraced him. As their tongues danced, Charles ruffled Sergi's hair and Sergi slipped a hand up the other boy's t-shirt, caressing his back. They moaned into each other's mouths for several minutes until Sergi pulled Charles even closer and started grinding against him, their erections rubbed against one another furiously.

Suddenly, Sergi pulled out and bit on Charles' lower lip.

“Bedroom,” he breathed out as they looked at each other intensely

They walked through other sweating bodies until they reached the left side of the house, where six rooms stood in front of each other. They found that the second one to the right was empty and got inside, making out as Charles locked the door.

They stopped to gasp for air and pulled their t-shirts up, revealing a tattoo covering the entirety Sergi’s chest. It was a black and white skull below the upper half of a clock with roman numerals. Some red lines and text in Spanish completed the design.

Without much thinking and shaking slightly, Charles bent over and kissed Sergi's nipple. Sergi dragged them both to the bed, with Charles on top and their hard cocks grazing each other below the jeans. Charles took Sergi’s nipple into his mouth and eagerly sucked on it, with the odd and arousing sensation that he was sucking part of the tattoo with it. Sergi hummed and Charles started licking in circles, noticing how wet and perky the nipple was now.

As Charles kept working, Sergi’s hand went down and unbuttoned and unzipped the other boy's jeans. Charles hesitated for a moment, then stopped licking and tried to unbutton Sergi’s jeans, but his movements were shaky and erratic.

“What’s wrong?” Sergi asked. Charles was blushing and didn’t look up. “You’re a virgin?” Charles nodded. “Ah, don’t worry. I’ll teach you. Just lay down.”

Still shaking, Charles laid next to Sergi and finished taking the rest of his clothes off as the older boy did the same. They stared at their nakedness for a while, a smile spreading across their faces.

"Nice dick..." Sergi commented. "You're definitely compensating for something," he added with a chuckle. Charles said nothing. He felt too happy to say anything.

Sergi shifted down on the bed. He leaned on one elbow and ran his tongue up and down Charles' dick for a little while. Then he kissed the tip of Charles’ cock and started swirling his tongue around it. Charles grunted and threw his head back as he bit on his lips. He felt his dick being swallowed by Sergi’s warm mouth and wet lips, and raised his head to watch the scene. Sergi took the dick out, smirked at Charles and spit on it several times before sucking it again, going down and up at a faster rhythm each time.

Charles was trying with all his might not to cum, that with Sergi’s skillful mouth and the way he looked at him. To make things harder for Charles, Sergi hummed with the cock inside his mouth, sending sweet vibrations through him.

Sergi gave his mouth rest and let his right hand continue the job, stroking hard and fast while his eyes occasionally looked up at Charles. When the latter started breathing faster and moaning louder, Sergi put the head of the cock in his mouth again and licked it in circles, his hand still pumping. Charles felt his balls filling up, his cock started throbbing and with a long groan he came in several spurts.

When Charles opened his eyes, regaining his breath, he found Sergi licking the remains of the cum off around his mouth. After he had swallowed it all he smiled and moved closer to Charles’ face.

“You taste amazing,” he muttered into his lips and kissed them.

Wanting more, Charles opened his mouth but was taken aback when Sergi moved above his collarbone and started tracing a few kisses from the right to the left. He stopped, pressed his parted lips against the right side of Charles’ neck and started sucking in deeply. Charles trembled and gasped for the whole twenty seconds of it, and when Sergi was finished he had left a trace of saliva behind. The older boy planted soft kisses on the area before getting on top of Charles and going for his lips again.

They made out to the sound of electronic music and a girl moaning on the next room. Charles’ hands couldn’t help but wander, exploring Sergi’s hair, neck and back all the way down his rounded buttocks. The way his still hard and wet cock rubbed against his own was driving him so mad Charles stopped the kiss and looked at Sergi. He didn’t need to say anything, for Sergi climbed off and laid down the bed.

Charles shifted until he was facing Sergi’s cock, took the base with one hand and licked the tip, feeling the sweet taste of precum straight from the source. He then widened his mouth and gave Sergi too long sucks.

“Less teeth, please,” Sergi interrupted him.

Charles stretched his mouth wider and went down on Sergi again, pulling a moan out of the Spanish boy. He eagerly continued to suck on the cock, going deeper each time until it reached the back of his throat. Sergi swore loudly in Spanish and Charles deepthroated Sergi two more times before coming out for hair, saliva dripping from his mouth. He smiled and rubbed it off with his hand but Sergi stopped him midway.

"Don't…" He said, lips wet. "You look sexy like that..."

Charles smirked, looked down at the wet dick and took a deep breath before taking the entire length again. This time Sergi started bucking his hips slowly, playing with Charles’ hair and moaning everytime he entered him. Charles was humming when he looked up and met the lust-filled emerald eyes.

"Can I go faster?" Sergi asked.

Charles pulled the soaked penis out of his mouth, gasping violently as the air entered his lungs. The spit now covered his entire mouth and went down to his chin.

"Now you can," he chuckled and Sergi did the same.

"Just tell me if you're uncomfortable and I’ll stop, okay?"

"Okay."

They resumed their motions, with Sergi burying himself faster. Charles started humming again, ignoring the beginning of his gag reflex, and after a while Sergi was swearing in between short breaths. He grabbed Charles’ hair tightly and pulled him in deeper before shooting his thick, hot load inside. Everytime Charles swallowed, he milked more cum out of Sergi, who in turn shook and groaned.

After Charles had finished, he panted and looked up at Sergi, who was smirking.

“You sure you’re a virgin?”

They smiled and chuckled. Then Charles got up and went to the bathroom, where he wiped the saliva off his face and neck with toilet paper.

“You’re still hard,” Sergi said from the bed. Charles turned around and caught him staring, his mouth slightly opened.

Charles threw the paper in the basket, turned off the bathroom lights and walked towards the bed.

“Jack off for me,” Sergi craved. "Here. Sit on top," he tapped the area above his penis.

Charles' skin flushed hot and he climbed into bed, where he moved towards Sergi on his knees. He got on top of Sergi and opened his legs wide, feeling the warm Iberian skin and trimmed pubes below him. Sergi had a smile on his face that made Charles start dripping precum.

He started stroking, rubbing himself against Sergi as he did so. Sergi put his hands on Charles' hips and grabbed firmly, staring at the scene with desire written all over his face.

"Cum for me, cum..."

Charles threw his head back and climaxed with high-pitched moans. Next he collapsed next to Sergi, breathing heavily.

When Charles had recovered from the orgasm, he found Sergi putting the semen drops into his mouth and tasting them before swallowing. Charles rested on his chest, wrapping an arm around him. In turn, Sergi ran his fingers along Charles' neck and upper back.

A few moments passed, with both boys breathing calmly and in silence, and Charles yawned. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against Sergi's chest as if it was a pillow.

“Are you sleeping?” Sergi asked, amused.

“I’m tired,” Charles purred, still with his eyes closed.

“Want a cig? I have some in my jeans.”

“I don’t smoke.”

Below his ear, Charles heard Sergi’s heart pounding faster.

“You’re the cutest little thing, I swear to God,” Sergi said.

Charles felt somewhat literal butterflies on his stomach and lifted his head.

“You’re pretty cute too.”

“Pretty cute? Just that?”

“Fine, you’re bloody gorgeous.” 

They smiled at each other. Charles reached up for Sergi’s hair and ran his fingers through his bangs, their eyes locked.

“Fuck! Fuck yeah!” a girl cried out from the adjacent bedroom, breaking Charles and Sergi’s gaze. They laughed.

“Keep it down!” Sergi yelled, knocking on the wall, and they laughed again.

Charles went back to Sergi’s chest, brushing his fingers on the tattoo while Sergi stroke Charles’ hair and neck. The music was muffled by the bedroom walls, but Charles was sure it was Daft Punk.

There was an aggressive knocking on the door.

“You guys done there?” a male voice said. “We need the room.”

“Yeah, hurry up!” a girl drunkenly shouted.

Charles and Sergi broke their embrace and started picking up their clothes from the floor. When Charles had finished putting on his underwear and jeans, he glanced at Sergi’s t-shirt, really noticing for the first time.

“What’s that t-shirt?” he pointed.

“This? It’s Blind Guardian.”

“And what’s that?”

“A band”.

Sergi smiled proudly as they continued to dress. Then Charles spoke again.

“Never heard of them.”

“Well, they’re German. And they play power metal, so… not MTV stuff.”

Charles looked puzzled.

“Forget it,” Sergi pointed out at Charles’ t-shirt, “Mr. Limp Bizkit,” he grinned.

“My dad bought this one for me…” Charles objected. “I don’t like American music much.”

“Really? Then you should check out Blind Guardian. They’re really cool. Cool guitars, cool vocals, Lord of the Rings lyrics…”

“What?” Charles was standing up now, facing Sergi. “Lord of the Rings lyrics? Really?”

Sergi smiled, picking up on Charles’ excitement. “Yeah.”

“About all of the books?”

“There’s more after the first one?”

“Obviously. The Two Towers movie is coming out this year, and the third book is called The Return—“

“You’re such a nerd”, Sergi said with a grin.

Charles looked down with a tiny awkward smile. “Yeah, I guess...“

“Don’t feel bad, I wasn’t mocking you. I like some nerdy stuff myself.”

Charles lightened up. “Really? Like what?”

Sergi’s answer was held up by the loud bangs on the door. “Okay, we’re coming! Christ…” he said.

When the two opened the door, the music hit them loud as they found the couple sitting on the floor. The girl’s eyes went from Charles to Sergi and she said: “Oh wow, this party really has everything.“

“Is the room decent?” the boy asked as they stood up.

“No,” Sergi replied, “there’s cum all over the walls.” Laughing, he walked away with an arm around Charles' waist.

 

 

Sergi and Charles picked their jackets from the panic room and went out to the garden, where people talked and drank by the pool. They sat down on Adrian’s garden, next to the front door.

“So you were saying you like nerdy things?” Charles said.

“Yeah, I’ve read the Foundation trilogy—“

“That’s a good series.”

“Right? Shame no one at my school has even heard of it. Oh, and I listen to Gamma Ray, who has lots of songs about space…”

“And that’s another metal band…”

“Yeah…”

Charles was smiling. “So you’re one of those big, scary metalheads.”

Sergi burst into small laughter. “Oh, I think I’m way less scary than the others… But yeah, I’m a defender of the faith and all that,” he did the horns up gesture with his hand. Charles couldn’t stop smiling. “I listen to some punk too, but mostly metal. I actually used to have my hair way down to here..." Sergi put his hand inches below his shoulder, "but my school made me cut it as soon as I came back from the summer holidays. Fascist pigs…"

Charles was gazing at Sergi, smiling.

"I bet you looked sexy..." Charles' low voice trembled and faded out.

"What? I looked sexy what?" Sergi was smiling playfully.

Charles looked down, blushing.

"I said I bet you looked sexy with your hair like that," he repeated louder and breathed out.

"Okay, no need to yell at me."

They chuckled. Charles looked up and found Sergi gazing deep into him.

"You have the most amazing eyes, did you know that?" Sergi said.

"I love your eyes too."

They kissed for a while, then Sergi put an arm around Charles' waist.

"So what music do you like, Charles?" he asked after a while.

“Me? I like a bit of Muse and Oasis and…” Charles was going to mention Matt Redmon but he stopped himself. “That’s it, I think.”

“You don’t listen to much music?”

“Not really.”

“How come?”

Charles shrugged slightly. “I don’t know…”

“What do you do, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, what are your hobbies?”

“Football. I like football.”

“Quick: Figo or Beckham?”

Sergi was beaming, which made Charles smile.

“Beckham.”

“Good answer. Figo's a cunt.”

“Barcelona supporter?” Charles said with a slight smirk.

“Proudly. You?”

“Arsenal.”

“Ah, cool. They’re doing great this season. Would be very surprising if they didn’t win the league.”

“Really?” Sergi nodded. “I haven’t caught a single match since I got here,” Charles pulled some grass out. “I miss London.”

Sergi sighed. “I miss Barcelona too."

Charles rested his head back on Sergi's shoulder, kissed his neck and they stayed in silence, watching the people around them and listening to the music coming from inside the house. Suddenly, Charles recognized a familiar beat and turned his head around to hear better. His heart filled up with joy. There was it again, the notes, the beautiful humming…

_Goodbye, horses, I’m flying over you…_

“Is that the Buffalo Bill song?” Sergi asked.

“Yeah… You watched the movie too?”

Sergi nodded. “Would you fuck me?” he quoted in a deep voice. Charles laughed. “I’d fuck me so hard.”

“Do you want to dance?”

Sergi leaned his head to a side. “Isn’t it a bit creepy?” he let out a tiny chuckle.

“It’s a catchy, though, isn’t it?”

Sergi listened for a while. “Yeah, it is kinda catchy...”

 

 

When they got into the fairly crowded dancefloor the song was about to end, so Charles asked the DJ to play it from the beginning one more time. He then took Sergi by the hand and they stared at each other for a while, unsure of what to do. Charles pulled Sergi closer, embracing him by the waist, and they moved together at a slower pace than the music. Charles rested his face on Sergi’s chest while the later hugged and sniffed him.

_He told me, "I've seen it rise,_

_But, it always falls._

_I've seen 'em come, I've seen 'em go."_

_You say, "All things pass into the night"_

_And I say, "Oh no, sir, I must say you're wrong_

_I must disagree, oh no sir, I must say you're wrong"_

Without realizing it, they were kissing again. First slowly and tenderly, and as the song went on the kiss became more deep and they both started moaning. Charles was tugging on Sergi’s dark hair while Sergi’s hands moved up and down Charles' lower back. After a while they slid under his pants and kneaded and squeezed his buttocks, making Charles hum and deepened the kiss.

Sergi’s middle finger teased Charles' ass crack before going in, gently brushing the entrance to the virgin hole and massaging around it.

Sergi broke the kiss, interrupting Charles' moans, and asked with a smile:

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

 

  

Charles knelt on all fours, ass high in the air, and waited. The bed sank a little and he felt a couple of spits landing warm on his asshole, followed by Sergi’s tongue giving the first, slow licks from bottom to top. Charles squirmed and gasped, his toes curling, and high moans escaped his lips when Sergi started moving faster. After a while he spit some more and buried his face deep as he continued to lick.

Charles couldn’t stop moaning, his cock was dripping wet and he had to clench to the sheets when Sergi started smacking his ass and slurping on it. Only seconds later he was quivering in pleasure and spurting his semen all over the bed. He collapsed, face down and drooling.

“Sorry…” he said, panting.

“Nah, it’s my fault. I kinda got carried away…” Sergi playfully bit on Charles' right buttock. “Your ass is just too delicious.”

Charles couldn’t stop his smile once it showed on his face. He turned on his back and looked at Sergi: his lips were pink and meatier than usual.

“So is your shaft.”

Sergi bit his lips before speaking. “Wanna suck it again?”

“Yeah,” Charles nodded.

"Alright. Lean on your elbows. Face up."

Charles did as he was told and waited for Sergi, who got on his knees, put them on both sides of Charles and advanced until his hard cock was before his mouth. Charles opened wide and Sergi shoved, slowly at first and picking up pace later. Charles found the new position more difficult, but he loved having Sergi hitting his throat too much to complain. Sergi grunted and gasped, stopping once in a while to let Charles breathe. Everytime he did so, he didn’t say anything; instead he gazed into Charles' eyes, brushed the spit around his mouth and tenderly stroke his hair. In return, Charles kept eye contact with Sergi even as he played with his testicles.

At the third restart, Sergi’s breath grew quicker and he let out a long groan. His cock spasmed and he quickly pulled out, climaxing on Charles’ cheeks, nose and lips. He shook his penis a few times before bringing his hand to Charles’ face and brushed the semen into his mouth. Charles gladly sucked on Sergi’s fingers everytime they fed him cum, and when his face was cleaned he had a hard-on again.

Sergi got off and Charles got into the old position. He heard Sergi opening some sort of bottle and in a moment a cold and sticky liquid was being poured generously into his ass. Sergi slid one finger slowly until it hit a spot inside Charles that made him jump slightly and moan loudly. The Spanish boy left his finger there for a while before retreating until it was nearly out and shoving it deep again. More lube slipped inside Charles and Sergi repeated the movements for several minutes, pulling more soft moans and gasps out of Charles.

Sergi pulled out his finger, spread Charles’ cheeks once again and poured more lube. He slid a finger all the way in and tried to add a second one, but Charles’ asshole puckered and wouldn’t let it in.

“Relax…” Sergi said and licked around his own finger. “Don’t push me away, just think about how good it’s gonna feel, okay?”

“Okay.”

Charles breathed deeply, closed his eyes and a clear picture of Sergi’s cock came to his mind. It was inside him, filling him up, fucking him… Charles spread his legs wider and the second finger slowly joined the first one inside his hole.

Sergi started sliding the fingers in and out, effectively hitting Charles’ spot over and over and making him hum softly.

“Tell me when you’re gonna cum and I’ll stop, okay?” Sergi said.

“Hmm-hmm…”

Charles started moving his ass backwards, fucking himself with the fingers. He cried out and moaned until he warned he was close to reaching orgasm, to which Sergi stopped, took the fingers out and gave one last kiss to Charles’ asshole, which was puckering and opening as if it missed the fingers.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna hurt a little at first, but then it’ll feel so good, I promise. I’ll use lube again so don’t worry.”

Sergi grabbed Charles by the hips and started rubbing his moistened cock up and down the shorter boy's asscrack, several times until Charles responded by grinding his ass in anticipation. Finally, Sergi positioned himself at Charles' entrance and started pushing. It wouldn't go in so he tried again, this time grunting as the head of his cock broke through the tight hole and penetrated it completely.

Charles had shut his eyes and now clenched to the sheets, long and loud whines escaping his mouth. He jerked slightly, uncomfortable at the intruder.

Sergi uttered shushes and bent over to kiss Charles on the shoulder. “ _Relájate, hermoso…_ ”, he said softly as Charles continued to show signs of pain. He traced kisses along Charles' back, shoulders and earlobe, where he whispered, “ _Todo va a salir bien…_ ” Charles couldn’t understand a word, but Sergi’s tone was soothing and, combined with his kisses, took Charles' mind away from the pain a bit. When Sergi slid a hand down Charles' pelvis and stroke his penis, Charles felt he was drifting away.

Sergi worked on Charles for a good while. He rubbed a thumb over the tip everytime his hand went up, continued to kiss Charles everywhere and nibbled on his earlobe. After a good while he stopped the last two actions and, with his hand still gripping Charles’ cock, he very slowly thrust the entire length of his shaft inside. Charles winced and whined in pain again.

“It hurts…”

“Won’t hurt for long, promise. I’m gonna leave it there for a while so you’d get used to it, okay?”

“Okay…”

Without any previous notice, Charles' shoulder was rewarded with another hickey, one that spread ecstasy through all his body. Sergi then began masturbating Charles again while leaving kisses along his neck and back. In return, Charles arched his back and pursed his lips with his eyes closed.

“Sergi?” Charles called after some minutes.

“Yeah?”

“My legs are tired.”

Sergi helped Charles laid on his stomach without taking an inch off him, joining the two bodies together. He wrapped his arms around Charles’ armpits and held tight onto his shoulders. Then he gave him a kiss on the back of his neck and asked:

“How’s the pain?”

“Better,” Charles answered in a sigh, enjoying the feeling of their warm bodies touching.

“Great".

Sergi removed his arms from Charles' shoulders and poured more lube into the sore area. He leaned his hands on Charles’ lower back, just above his ass, and started fucking him very slowly. After a while the pain faded away completely, and Charles was enjoying being filled up by Sergi’s penis. He wished Sergi went faster, and as if his thoughts had been heard, Sergi picked up speed; moaning and gasping as his balls slammed against the younger buttocks and his dick buried himself deeper into Charles. Charles joined Sergi with even louder moans, and soon the room was filled with sex noises.

Suddenly Sergi started breathing deeply, hands trembling on Charles' back, and slowed down until he stopped the penetration. He leaned on both sides of the bed and regained his breath for a moment before continuing at a steady pace. Now his hands leaned on the bed, which started bouncing as he thrust faster. Charles was caught in a series of moaned affirmations and quick breaths, while Sergi grunted and panted frantically.

Charles' long moan was muffled by the sheets he was biting on and he came in never ending spurts, drooling as his vision got blurry. The bed quickly got soaked and he noticed with satisfaction that his asshole was squeezing Sergi’s dick.

“Did you just come without touching yourself?” Sergi asked, gasping as he momentarily stopped.

“Uh-huh…”

“You’re amazing.”

Sergi’s torso touched Charles’ back and he could feel his elaborated breathing on his ear. Sergi wrapped his arms around Charles’ armpits for the second time that night and kissed his neck several times. He then started with deep, slow thrusts which made him moan louder. His cock tensed up, he let out a series of grunts and buried himself even deeper than he had done the whole night. In a flash, hot waves of sticky cum were filling Charles' hole. Sergi trembled with every second of his orgasm and held Charles even tighter.

The two stayed still for a moment, their sweaty bodies stuck together as they breathed heavily. Then Sergi pulled out and got off of Charles, leaving him with an empty sensation on his ass and cum sliding down his thighs.

“How was it?” Sergi asked excitedly, laying next to Charles.

“Bloody amazing,” Charles breathed, smiling widely. Sergi did the same and they were soon grinning together, eyes locked.

“Let’s clean each other up,” Sergi suggested.

“In a minute,” Charles said and smirked in a way he had never done so before in his life. He pulled Sergi by the neck and gave him a slow, wet kiss.

 

 

The rays of sunshine hit Charles in the face and he woke up with difficulty, frantically rubbing his eyes. Close to him, a psychedelic beat served as background for a woman singing:

_She called her master to the bed_

_Caressed him until he was fed_

_Then the priest discovered what the witch had done, and said,_

_"You will burn until you're dead..."_

_"You will burn until you're dead..."_

The door opened.

“Hey, Char—OOHH that’s something I didn’t need to see…”

Adrian stood before the naked Charles, already changed into his uniform and covering his eyes.

“There’s school today?”

“Yeah, on account that it’s Monday… What did you and S smoke?”

“How do you--?”

“I saw you two dancing, and going into bedrooms together… “

Looking down and smiling, Charles picked up his boxers from the floor and put them on. Sitting down hurt him and he grimaced.

“It’s cool, Charles,” Adrian continued. “I told you I was cool with it, didn’t I?”

“You did. Thanks.”

“No problem. Okay, we only have fifteen minutes to leave. Change quick. I called your dad to pick you up.”

“You called what?”

“Don’t worry, I told him you stayed over to sleep. He didn’t seem to suspect a thing. And, he has your uniform.”

“Alright. I’ll get ready.”

Charles got out of the room limping slightly. In the living room, a girl was sucking and licking the nipples on another. He stared, wide-eyed, while another psychedelic song came from Adrian’s record player. Charles was surprised at how much he was enjoying the music that morning.

_Wicked woman,_

_Who do you think you're fooling?_

_Wicked woman,_

_He knows what you're doing._

_Wicked woman,_

_Wicked woman,_

_Wicked woman,_

_You go to Hell!_

“Hey!”

“What are you lookin' at? Pervert!”

“He’s a friend!” Adrian intervened, coming from the kitchen. He looked at the two girls. “Go home, ladies. My folks are coming home any minute now.”

The one on top, a brunette, groaned and rubbed her eyes. “I’m too hungover to drive…”

“Then Katie will drive. Come on.”

Someone had parked on Adrian’s driveway. Charles turned around and saw his father.

“Let’s go, man,” Adrian said, heading for the door.

“Hang on.”

Charles started sniffing his own clothes. They smelled strongly of Sergi’s cologne.

“Do you have any girl’s perfume, Adrian?”

“Only my mom’s.”

“Use mine…” The blond girl slurred and it took her two tries to open her handbag. Charles stepped closer to her and sprayed the perfume all over himself. “You’re welcome, bum boy.”

Charles gave the perfume back and left the house, followed by Adrian.

“Hey, Mr. Powell!” The latter waved.

“Morning, Adrian! Did you enjoy yourselves?”

Charles had to stop himself from smirking and instead bit on his lip.

“Yeah,” Adrian replied and Charles nodded.

While Adrian put his trunk in his car, just in front of Mr. Powell’s, Charles approached his father, trying to walk as normally as he could. He suppressed a pained face the minute he sat down.

“Is that a hickey?” Mr. Powell was narrowing his eyes at his son.

“Uh, yeah.”

Mr. Powell’s smile widened as he started the car. “That’s why you wanted to stay, right?”

“Yeah,” Charles reminisced Sergi’s kisses and smiled, a familiar tingle spreading.

“Did you get her number or anything?”

“Uh… no. I don’t know if I’ll see her again, actually.”

“Oh.” They stayed quiet for a moment, Charles looking down in regret. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find a date soon. I was as shy as you at your age… but it gets better, really.”

“Thanks, dad.”

Charles' father put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to do fine, Charles. I’m proud.”


	9. Love

Charles stuck his hand beneath his uniform coat and took out the magazine.

"What's that?" Adrian asked as Charles flipped the pages. "Oh that's - that's a penis." He grimaced awkwardly and scratched the back of his hair. "Damn, Charles, you hook up with S and you turn into full pervert."

Charles smirked and looked at the photos again. His boner was quick and steady.

“Did you really fake being sick to avoid your class road trip?” Adrian continued.

“I have better things to do than watch sodding plankton in a tank.”

Adrian laughed and said, “You’re right… There's something that's confusing, though. I thought you were a Christian or something. Why the change?"

Charles shook his head and chuckled. "I don't know what I am anymore…" Adrian frowned. "But it's not like it matters. I'm going to hell anyway."

Adrian snorted. "I love how fucking casual you are about it."

Charles shrugged and flipped another page. "If God wants to send me to hell, then so be it. I'm going to enjoy life here as much as I can. Don't play by His rules anymore."

Adrian stared into the horizon, into the field where only a baseball juniors team trained.

"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you," He said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… Hell isn't what Christians make it out to be. It may actually be a lot of fun."

"Fun?" Charles smirked.

“Yeah…”

Charles said nothing, his lips still curved. He closed the magazine and leaned with his hands behind his back, staring at the field.

"The whole concept is probably a big lie so that people get scared and obey God on every little ridiculous shit," Adrian continued. "Take the gay thing, for instance. I mean, does God really send guys like you to eternal suffering because they like other guys? He just wants you to be scared, to obey and stop enjoying yourself."

"But why? I’m not hurting anybody."

"Why? Because He can,” Adrian said. “Sounds like something God would do.”

Charles gave a tiny smirk and flipped more pages of the magazine.

“How can you be sure?” he asked Adrian. “How do you know for sure God won’t punish me? If it isn’t Hell it may be something else…”

“That’s the thing, I’m not sure. Who knows what God wants? Even Christians don’t have any idea…” he sighed.

"Well, that's reassuring…" Charles laughed hoarsely.

"Don’t worry. Things will pick up, like I was telling you the time we were interrupted."

"Yeah, you were talking about the dogs…” Charles looked around. “Where are they?”

“They’re on duty, on your class’ trip.”

“On duty? Doing what?”

“The dogs are guardians. They’re watching over someone in your class.”

“Who?”

“The Wilful King. The one who will put an end to God’s tyranny”.

Charles’ eyes widened and his hands clenched. “That’s the Beast.”

“You know your Bible, good…” Adrian smirked. “And don’t look at me like that, the Beast is not someone to be feared. He’ll bring freedom and unity.”

“That’s not what the Bible says.”

“And who wrote the Bible?”

Charles’ lips curved into a tiny smile.

“See? The real enemy here is God, not the Beast… But the Vatican doesn’t want this knowledge, obviously… There will be a real change in the world when The Beast comes to power, we'll finally be free from God. Don’t tell me you don’t want that...”

Charles smiled slightly. “Yeah, I guess I do… But how do you know the Beast is here between us?”

“I’ve been researching this stuff since I was twelve. Watching the signs too, you know.”

“Who is it, then?”

Adrian was interrupted by piercing whistles coming from below the grandstands.

“Godammit,” he fisted the air, “always at the wrong time…”

He and Charles stood up, turned around and saw Sergi climbing the fence, his regular clothes making him distinguishable to anyone that might pass by. He landed on school grounds and wiped himself from the dust and grass.

Charles’ heart pounded faster and suddenly the images from that night flashed before is eyes. A smile spread across his face.

"Hey, Charles,” the emerald eyes looked up. Charles realized how much he had missed them, and the smile below them, and the bangs of black hair.

Charles ran down the grandstands and did a turn to meet Sergi at the other side.

"Sergi…" Charles said.

“You look like a little soldier in that uniform…”

Charles blushed with a smile and gazed into Sergi’s eyes. They then fell quiet, looking down and with only the baseball practice as background noise.

"So, uh…" Sergi started. "I was wondering if you, uh… if you'd like to go out with me."

"A date?" Charles stuttered. His palms were suddenly burning.

"You don't want to?"

"Of course I want to," Charles answered immediately. “But I don’t think my dad would---“

“Ah, that can be solved. You can come over to my house. Tell your dad I'm your new friend… Besides, my grandpa is cool with me dating."

"Really? Your grandfather?"

"How could he not? He's a total fag."

"What? You're joking!"

"I’m not. If there's a gay gene, that would explain a lot."

He laughed wholeheartedly while Charles smiled.

"When?” the latter asked.

“Is Saturday okay with you?”

“Sure. How do I get to your house?”

"I’ll pick you up, of course. I’ll come over in my white carriage and promise your dad I’ll bring you back before midnight.”

Charles chuckled for a good while. His insides were twisting with excitement. “Alright. It’s 6 PM okay with you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Send me a text to confirm, okay? I’ll give you my number.”

“Hurry up, lovebirds!” Adrian shouted from the grandstands. “We have to go back to class!”

“Alright!” Sergi shouted, then looked at Charles again. “Give me your phone and I’ll save my number there.”

Charles had took out his cellphone to and gave it to Sergi, who started pushing buttons quickly. He then gave it back to Charles.

“That’s how your name’s spelled?” Charles asked as he looked at the screen.

“Yeah… So you don’t say it wrong again.”

They smiled at each other for a while.

“Okay, I’m going now,” Sergi said. He looked up at the grandstands and did a military salute. “On Adrian’s orders. See you Saturday, Charles.”

He lingered for a while, hands in pockets. Then he leaned over and gave Charles a quick kiss on the lips.

“Bye,” he said and turned around to jump the fence.

“Bye…” Charles replied weakly.

 

 

Charles sat at the edge of the bed, sliding a hand down Adrian's bag of presents A pentagram necklace inside a smaller bag came to light; grey and silver. There was a note stuck to it, saying _To: Charles. From: Adrian. Happy birthday! (Sorry I can't be there)_. Charles ripped the bag with his teeth and found another note:

_"When I first came to this world, I gave to you my great pentagram, timeless measure of beauty through proportion. And it was shown inverse, that creation and change be exalted above rest and preservation"._

Charles smiled, saved the necklace and both notes in his nightstand drawer and slid a hand inside the bag again. This time he found a book, titled The Secret Doctrine. Charles opened it at a random page and started reading.

_It is Satan who is the God of our planet and the only God. Satan (or Lucifer) represents the Centrifugal Energy of the universe, this ever-living symbol of self-sacrifice for the intellectual independence of humanity._

Charles kept on reading, turning page after page, and smiled at each affirmation the book contained.

"Charles!" His father interrupted from the first storey. "Your friend Sergi is here!"

Charles put the book in his drawer and tripped on a chair on his way to the bathroom, but quickly got up and checked himself in the mirror.

"He wants to come over to your room!"

Charles smirked and ran for his bedroom door. "Okay!" He shouted and opened it.

In a few, heavy steps, Sergi was at the door, wearing soccer attire and a school bag on his shoulders. He grinned together with Charles and the two met in a kiss, the younger boy pushing the other inside the room.

The door had closed once they pulled out.

"Happy birthday, Munchkin," Sergi said.

"Thanks, baby. Bought me something?"

"Of course," Sergi said and sat down. He opened his bag, took out a plastic box and handed it to Charles. "Open it."

"What is it?"

"Just open it, baby."

Charles looked into the joyful green eyes and then down at the case. He opened it and found a Blind Guardian CD inside.

"That's _Nightfall in Middle-Earth_ ," Sergi explained while Charles gazed at the artwork. "It’s based on Simalirion."

" _Silmarillion_ ," Charles corrected, amused, and looked up.

"Yeah, that," Sergi smiled. He then stuck his hand in the bag again, bringing a book to light. "I remembered you told me you forgot your copy in England, so I bought you a new one."

Charles smiled and quickly climbed on the bed, knocking Sergi over. He took him in a sweet kiss, their hands finding each other and holding tight.

"I guess that’s a thank you?" Sergi said they came out for air, their smiling faces separated only by their breaths.

Charles went for Sergi's ear and nibbled on it while his free hand explored the black shorts beneath him. His breath stopped for a moment upon finding out Sergi wasn’t wearing underwear, but was quickly disappointed when his boyfriend grabbed his wrist.

“I want to play football first,” Sergi said. He seemed amused at the mix of arousal and frustration on Charles' face. “If we fuck now I’ll be too tired for football.”

Charles thought about it, even though the touch of his skin against Sergi’s was making it hard to concentrate. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Sergi smiled. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“I know you will,” Charles kissed Sergi again and got off him. “I’ll put my sneakers on.”

“Okay.”

As Charles groped under the bed, Sergi got up and looked out the window.

"I still can't believe your dad gave you a mini-football field for your birthday," he commented, opening the blinds with his fingers.

"Well, the garden was already there…" Charles said, putting one of the sneakers on. “He just got it trimmed and bought the goals.”

“Still…” Sergi turned around. “You know what I got for my last birthday?”

“What?”

“A fucking snare drum,” Sergi let out a chuckle while Charles finished with his sneakers. “One of those little ones, you know…” he gestured the size with his hand. “I looked like fucking Little Drummer Boy banging on that thing at home.”

Charles laughed wholeheartedly and Sergi continued.

“I’m lucky the vocalist from my band owns a drum kit in his basement…” he sighed and stretched himself. “Do you want to piggyback me? I’ll carry you downstairs.”

"What? Really?"

"Yeah,” Sergi smiled while nodding. “Hop in, baby."

“How?”

Sergi got on his knees, arms slightly opened.

"Place your arms on my shoulders," Sergi commanded.

Charles got up from the bed, walked towards Sergi and did as he was told. "Like this?"

"Uh-huh. Now one arm over the other… Good. Now bend your knees…"

Sergi put his arms behind Charles' legs and joined his hands in a lock. Then he slowly got up.

"Careful", Charles’ voice shook.

"Don’t worry. Just hold tight and trust me, okay?”

Sergi carried Charles through the long corridor of the house’s second story, between the empty rooms and the sun coming through the windows. Charles clung to Sergi and smiled while the latter walked quickly, nearly running, until they reached the staircase, where he slowly climbed down every step. He put Charles down once they were in the living room.

Charles’ father walked out of the big kitchen and looked at the soccer t-shirts.

“Have fun, boys.”

 

Charles stood inches away from the ball, hands in hips. He could visualize the crowd at Ashburton Grove, their excited faces hit by the sunlight as they murmured in anticipation for the shot, some even standing up to see better. Charles kicked the ball with determination and it flew off to the right, away from the soccer goal.

“Wow, you really do suck at football,” Sergi said from the center of the goal.

“Shut up,” Charles said, completely red in the face, and ran to pick up the ball from the rows of yellow flowers behind the goal.

He came back panting and frowning.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said to Sergi while scratching the back of his head. “I’m sure I shot well…”

“You’re worse than Raúl in the Euro,” Sergi chuckled and Charles blushed a brighter red. He put a hand on the smaller boy’s shoulder. “Come on, babe, try again. I’ll teach you.”

“As usual…” Charles teased.

“You’re a fast learner anyway…”

They went back to their positions. Charles placed the ball on the same spot and took a few steps back.

“Your strength was okay,” Sergi said, “just kick it very low… as low as you can.”

“Okay,” Charles said.

He took a run up and kicked. The ball didn’t fly off, but ended on the ground, inches away from the goal.

“Okay, that was better,” Sergi said and went to pick up the ball.

Charles ran towards him.

“Let me try again,” he pleaded and tried to push the ball from Sergi’s hands.

“Winner’s keepers,” Sergi grinned as he pulled the ball towards his shoulder. “I scored all my shots.”

Charles pulled harder and managed to get the ball. He put it on the ground and started kicking it as he ran to the opposite side of the garden. Immediately he felt Sergi running after him.

“You’re not getting away!” he shouted.

Charles did a few turns with the ball, but he was getting dizzy from always having Sergi follow his moves. He took momentum and started running towards the goal again, only to have Sergi tug on the Arsenal t-shirt, hug him from behind and knocked him to the ground.

“Ow…” Charles grunted. “You’re heavy.”

“And you’re little.”

Sergi gave a playful nibble to Charles’ shoulder, to which the latter giggled.

“It tickles…”

“How dare you. That was a powerful bite!”

Sergi nibbled on Charles several more times, and the latter couldn't stop giggling. Then he rolled him over and put him on the ground, Charles' neck resting on his arm. He leaned over to kiss him, cupping his face in one hand.

Charles pulled away after a moment. “My dad will see us.”

“In-law?” Sergi got on his knees and looked at the tall white house, feet away to their right. “He can see nothing from there.”

Charles leaned on his elbows and looked at the house too. “Is he watching the telly?”

“Yeah.”

Sergi knocked Charles to the ground and started kissing him again.

“Stop, baby,” Charles said between kisses. “We’ll get caught.”

“Charles!” Mr. Powell called out from inside the house.

“Oh crap,” Sergi said and got up. Charles did the same in a jolt. “Do my lips look like--?”

“Like we were snogging?” Charles smirked. “Yeah.”

Charles’ father came into view just after Sergi had rubbed off his lips with one arm. He stood at the doorframe.

“I made some tea!” He said. “Would you please come in, boys?”

Charles and Sergi walked into the house. In the kitchen, they grabbed water bottles from the table and drank.

“Charles,” Mr. Powell said. “Please wash yourself and change before tea.”

“Okay,” Charles said and headed upstairs. Sergi watched him.

“Sergi, you can wash in that bathroom,” Mr. Powell said, pointing to his left.

“Oh, right… Thanks, Mr. Powell.”

The boys returned to the living room in regular clothing and sat at the dinner table, where Charles' father poured tea for them. It was late in the afternoon and everyone wore cozier clothes except for Sergi, who had the same long-sleeved black t-shirt from the night he and Charles first met.

“Wow, these are really tiny cups,” Sergi commented, lifting his and looking at it with arched eyebrows.

Mr. Powell simply smiled. “You never tried English tea?”

Sergi shook his head. “Back at home we only drink wine.”

Charles' father served tea on his own cup and sat in front of the boys. “Yes, I heard the Spaniards have very good wine. You’re from Barcelona, correct?”

Sergi nodded as he tasted a sip of the tea.

“Do you like it?” Mr. Powell asked.

“Yes, it’s good.”

The man smiled widely. “I’m glad. It’s our best export.”

Sergi drank some more before speaking. “I don’t believe that. You have pretty good football players.”

“Well, thank you. Charles here would kill me, but I think Neville is the best from the past decade.”

“Yeah, he’s awesome.”

The three of them drank in silence for a while. Then Charles’ father spoke again.

“I don’t believe you ever spoke to Charles’ girl?”

“Girl?” Sergi raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, he told me he met a girl at Adrian’s party. Look at him, he still has those hickies there!” Mr. Powell chuckled while he pointed at his son’s neck. Charles’ face froze and he drank more tea to hide his self-consciousness.

Sergi stomped on Charles’ foot under the table, making him grunt.

“Charles, what’s wrong?” his father asked.

“Stomachache…” Charles faked a different grunt and bent over a little.

“Huh… Well, do you know her, Sergi?”

“I only saw her once. Think her name is Shirley.”

“Really?” Mr. Powell put the cup up to his lips. “Well, I just think it’s sad Charles didn’t get her number.”

“Yeah, he’s an _idiot_ for things like that,” Sergi turned to Charles, suppressing a grin while giving him a meaningful look.

The phone rang and Mr. Powell got up to get it in the kitchen.

“That hurt!” Charles whispered immediately to Sergi.

“When are you going to tell him?”

“Are you mental? He would kill me!”

“He doesn’t seem like he would…”

“Well, he’s not your grandfather…”

“Yeah, my grandpa went through a lot of shit… but still…” Sergi took Charles’ hand under the table. “I hate hiding…”

“Well…” Charles’ father said. He sat down again while Sergi brushed his fingers against Charles’. “That was Julia on the phone…” Mr. Powell was looking at his son now. “She says you haven’t answered Nicholas’ e-mails since December. Something wrong between you two?”

“No, I just forgot,” Charles said and finished his tea in one gulp. “I’ll get to it soon, dad.”

Charles' father eyed his son for a moment. Then he said, frowning, “You will? He’s your best friend, Charles.”

“Adrian’s my best friend.”

There was a pause during which Mr. Powell shifted on his seat and frowned at Charles, who didn’t get out of his father’s inquisitive eyes.

“Uh…” Sergi interrupted the awkward silence. He looked at Charles. “Wanna play on the PS2 for a while? “

“Sure,” Charles said, trying to hide his overt enthusiasm from his father.

Both boys got up while Sergi thanked Mr. Powell for the tea. He picked his bag from the floor, hung it over his shoulder and followed Charles upstairs to his room.

 

 

"What’s up with that Nicholas dude?" Sergi asked as he put his bag on the floor.

"We used to be friends, in London,” Charles answered and closed the door very slowly, as to not make any noise. “Have you brought Rocky Horror again?"

"Rocky never gets old," Sergi said with a grin. He took out a DVD case from his bag and went for Charles' player, below the television. "What happened?"

Charles shrugged and sat on his bed. "I got an email from him just before you got here. He was telling me about a 'puff' from my old class. Like it was the funniest shit." Sergi looked back on him, smiling sardonically. "I think I have nothing to say to him."

Sergi nodded and pushed the disc inside the player. "Serves him right. What about your other friends?"

Charles recalled it, as if it belonged to a long and distant past. “Jo was in love with me.”

Sergi huffed and smirked. “Well, that’s awkward.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So you don’t talk to any of them anymore?”

“No.”

“And your only friend’s still Adrian?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re too lonely, Munchkin. Don’t you think you’re too lonely?”

Charles smiled slightly. “I’m okay. My classmates are all cunts anyway. Besides, I have you.”

Sergi beamed and gazed into Charles' eyes for a while. “Can’t argue with that. I just worry about you sometimes. Has anyone messed with you lately?”

“They hid my gym clothes… but nothing really violent anymore.”

“You’re right, bunch of cunts… They’re nothing without the Major Cunt, aren’t they?”

Charles laughed, thankful he still carried his bowie knife to school. “I guess not… The movie’s starting. “

They laid on the bed and snuggled, just in time for the opening chords to start playing. They sang together.

_Michael Rennie was ill_

_The Day the Earth Stood Still_

_But he told us where we stand_

_And Flash Gordon was there_

_In silver underwear_

_Claude Rains was The Invisible Man_

"What's with those false notes?" Charles teased.

"I'm a drummer, remember?”

Charles let out a small chuckle and kissed Sergi on the neck. In return, Sergi smiled and squeezed Charles tighter, both staying in a cuddling position. When the movie was halfway through, Sergi asked:

"Munchkin… Don’t you want to leave that shitty school of yours?"

"Yes. But my dad wants me to go to Columbia."

"Do you want to go there?"

"No…"

"Then don't… Come to England with me."

"What?" Charles raised his head.

"I'm serious. I already know English, I could start University there while you finish school."

"What about my dad’s job here?"

"You can live with a relative, don't you?"

"I guess… I'd have to ask him."

Sergi sniffed Charles' hair before speaking. “Or you could join me in Barcelona. “

Charles let out a small chuckle. “I can’t even speak Spanish properly…”

“Bullshit, you’re doing fine with the book you bought. And remember that word I taught you last week?”

“The one that meant “balls” or the one that meant “shaft?”

“Oh, yeah…” Sergi chuckled hoarsely. “No, I didn’t teach you this one. It’s _cabroncete_.”

“What?”

“ _Ca… bron… ce…te._ ”

“Uh, alright. So something like, _eres cabroncete_?”

“I’m a little twerp?” Sergi smirked laughed loudly.

“Stop it, Sergi,” Charles said, though a smile was forming in the corner of his lips. “You only teach me swear words...”

“ _Que no es cierto, hermoso…“_

Charles' heart warmed up at the last word. “That means beautiful, isn’t it?”

Sergi nodded and played with Charles' hair. "It's gonna turn out right, baby."

“You really think so?”

“I’m sure.”

Their eyes met and they started kissing. Sergi quickly got on top of Charles as their hands explored each other and they made out heavily. Sergi started grinding against Charles, which interrupted their kissing in places and made them pant. Charles' hand had a life of its own and it quickly grabbed the waistband of Sergi’s sweatpants and pulled down, caressing Sergi’s ass for a moment.

Charles sat up, pushing Sergi on a kneeling position and started trailing kisses along the older boy’s torso, at times stopping at his nipples to suck on them. Sergi caressed his hair and pulled Charles closer.

Charles opened his mouth wide and took Sergi’s length until his pubes hit his nostrils. He continued to suck fast and deep, with Sergi biting his lips and grunting with his eyes shut. After some minutes Sergi took Charles face and kissed his spit-covered lips.

He pushed Charles back on the bed and stripped him from his sweatpants and underwear.

"Legs up," He commanded and Charles obeyed. “Open wide…”

Sergi crawled down on the bed, put his face in Charles' hole and gave it a kiss.

“You’re wet, baby,” he smiled.

Sergi brushed his index finger around the hole before going in, making Charles gasp. The younger boy grabbed Sergi by the hair and smiled as he was being fingered fast. Soon Sergi added his middle finger and this time Charles couldn’t suppress a moan.

"Shh, quiet, Munchkin," Sergi muttered tenderly. He grabbed the remote next to him, changed the channel and turned up the volume. He then removed the fingers, took off his t-shirt and gave it to Charles. "Bite on it,” he said.

Charles did as he was told just in time for Sergi’s fingers to enter him again and start drilling harder and faster. He moaned and grunted into the t-shirt as he bit it hard.

“God, you look so sexy like that…” Sergi smiled.

Sergi took Charles’ hard penis into his mouth and started sucking eagerly, pulling out more muffled noises out of Charles. After a while he removed the fingers, buried his head in Charles' ass and pushed his tongue inside. He fucked Charles a few times, making him twist and moan on the bed. He then stopped and gave Charles' asshole a kiss.

"So good…" He growled.

Charles watched him grab the lube and spread it over his penis. Sergi positioned the tip on Charles' hole and penetrated him in a single, quick shove, making the younger boy jerk and moan.

"Charles?" His father's voice shouted. Charles immediately withdrew the t-shirt. "I'm going to the shops! Do you want something?"

"No, it's fine!"

"Alright! I'm taking the car!"

Sergi didn't move until the house door open and close. Then he smiled wickedly.

"You’re free, baby.” He bent over and kissed Charles. "I love it when you’re loud.”

Sergi began pounding steadily and Charles wrapped his legs around him. Charles couldn’t stop gazing into Sergi and tangling with his hair while Sergi cupped the younger face with one hand, smiling sightly as he did so. Their pleasure noises filled the small space between their mouths and then wandered around the room.

"Baby..." Charles purred

"What, Munchkin?"

Charles pulled Sergi by the neck and kissed him, noticing how specially soft and sweet his lips felt that night. As their tongues fondled, Sergi slowed his thrusts down.

"Don't stop…" Charles begged.

"You're so demanding..." Sergi huffed with a weak smile. Then he stopped completely and rested on Charles, panting heavily. "It's been two weeks… I’m a little tired, Munchkin."

"I can ride you if you want."

"I love it when you ride me..." Sergi smirked, making Charles bite his lower lip and smile. "But no, tonight I wanna cum inside you like this..." He gave Charles' neck a couple of kisses. "Do you want my cum inside, baby?" He asked softly, staring into Charles' eyes.

"Always..." Charles answered, his hole clenching in anticipation.

Sergi pulled out completely and slammed back in, making his boyfriend jerk and moan. He did it a couple more times, Charles crying out each, and started thrusting slow and deep in between grunts. Charles loud moans were quickly joined by purrs.

After several minutes, Sergi ran a finger through his boyfriend’s jawline.

"You're so perfect..." he panted, eyes twinkling. He kissed Charles and then put his lips near his ear. " _Te quiero_ ,” he whispered.

Charles' eyes widened for a second as he remembered the phrase's meaning from the book. Then his eyes shut as Sergi started pounding him faster.

“Ah… fuck, fuck!” the smaller boy cried out.

Charles felt kisses on his neck, the word “ _amor_ ” being breathed into him over and over, and the hard cock thrusting harder and faster than in all of their nights together. He thought he was going to pass out from the pleasure as he continued to moan uncontrollably, his mouth wide opened and his eyes still shut. It was only a matter of seconds before he threw his head back, began quivering and screamed at the top of his lungs:

"Yeah... Like that… Damien..."

"WHAT?!"

To Charles, it was as if he had been ripped off from a dream. In no time his eyes were opened, he was sitting up on the bed and Sergi knelt to his right, the spark in his face now replaced by hurt.

"Who's Damien?" He asked, his lips trembling.

"N-Nobody…"

"Nobody? Nobody you think about while we're having sex?"

Charles didn't know what to say. He wished his mind stopped mixing the memories of Sergi on top of him and the made-up images of a very naked Damien in the same position.

"Have you slept with him?"

"No…"

"Tell me the truth, Charles."

"He doesn't even talk to me!"

Charles wished he hadn't shouted that, an open complaint at Damien’s behavior.

Sergi was chuckling, but the playful or happy chuckle was gone. He sat cross-legged on the bed. "So you fantasize about a guy you don't even talk to… All this time? Since we got together, you were actually thinking of him?"

"No, I wasn’t… Sergi, please, I'm sorry---"

"You're sorry! That's a good one! You shouted his name!"

"It didn't mean anything! I swear, it's only you... I only think of you. You're my world".

"Really? Do you love me, Charles?"

"What?"

"'Cause that's what I said when we were making love… I told you I loved you, and I know you understood because you understand more Spanish now..." He stared into Charles’ eyes. "Do you love me?"

"…"

Sergi’s lips pursed and light tears started flowing from his eyes.

"Sergi, don't… Please don't--"

"I really was going to get you out of here, you know... Run away with you… Because I loved you so much, Munchkin."

He sniffed and pursed his lips tighter.

"Lov _ed_?"

“Yeah…” a new river of tears flooded Sergi’s eyes. “I'm not gonna wait for you…” Sergi quickly got dressed, grabbed his school bag and got up. "Goodbye, Charles."

Charles got up too and grabbed Sergi by the hand. "Please, don't go," he said. His mouth opened again to add "I love you" but no words came out.

Sergi shook it off, reached the window and opened it. He sat on the ledge for a while before climbing down carefully.

"Please, don't do this…”

Charles even forgot he was half-naked as he watched Sergi crossing the football field and opening the house gates. He tried to take in his smell, his smile, his accent, until he knew he was never coming back. Then he closed the window and collapsed on the floor, angry that he couldn't even cry. Memories of Damien returned to his mind and Charles realized that he hated him. He hated him for popping into his life ever since that remote day in September and staying there, taking over his thoughts and dreams until Charles could no longer breathe without him. But most of all, Charles hated Damien because he wasn’t strong enough not to love him.

 

 

The trailer park rocked softly and Charles knew something was going on. He waited behind some trees, feeling like it had been millions of years even though it was probably only weeks. Only weeks and nothing had really changed.

A girl of about 16 opened the door. She had raggy clothes and her blouse unbuttoned to a half.

"You're a pig!" She drunkenly yelled at the inside of the trailer park. "I don't wanna see you ever again!"

She stumbled and fell on the grass, and Damien got out when she was getting up.

"Come on, Diane! Don't be like that…"

He reached her and grabbed her by the hand.

"Don’t touch me!”

Still followed by Damien, Diane started walking towards the road, where a red car was parked.

"You're too drunk to drive!" Damien shouted. "I'll drive you home."

"Hah! Don't even think about it."

Charles pictured them both inside the trailer park, skin against skin as she rode Damien, and could feel his knife burning in his pocket. He wanted nothing more than to run towards the girl and nail it against her back, head, neck, everywhere he could reach; until her screams filled the air and she was soaked on her own blood. _Stay away from Damien, you worthless slag. Do you hear me? Stop crying, you deserved this. He belongs to me only._

Charles shook his head violently and blinked: the girl and her car were no longer around, only Damien stood there. Charles waited until he had jumped the fence to follow him to their room.

According to Charles' alarm clock, it was seven in the evening. The stereo played a song he had heard a couple of times on MTV.

_And on and on from the moment I wake_

_To the moment I sleep_

_I'll be there by your side_

_Just you try and stop me_

_I'll be waiting in line_

_Just to see if you can_

"Would you turn it off, please?"

Charles refused to look at Damien as he asked the question. He didn’t want to see his face, his eyes, his hair, and have to face the fact that all the old feelings were flooding him again, eating up inside him.

"It's _my_ stereo."

Charles got up off bed and took his jacket from the hanger. He put it on and stared towards the door.

"Freak…" He heard Damien said when he was leaving.

 

 

Charles found Adrian at the grandstands. He was smoking and the two Rottweilers stood at his sides.

"Hey, Charles."

Charles said nothing back. He sat down, knees up and head between them, and let one of the dogs sniff him.

"S told me about the breakup. Sorry, man."

"Thanks," Charles said.

"He was really upset. Is it true you like someone else?"

Charles didn't have the courage to answer to that, so he kept his head on his knees and looked down.

"Charles... S is my friend too, you know."

"Fine, it's true."

"How come? I thought you really liked him."

"I thought so too.”

"Who is it, then? The other guy.”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not… But I’m just curious. Is he from here, from Preston?”

Charles nodded, and felt his throat tightening as he spoke. “It’s Damien.”

“Damien Thorn?”

“Yeah.”

Adrian burst out into laughter and Charles frowned at him.

"There's nothing funny about this!"

"Oh Charles, Charles... And to think I first met you in a chapel…"

"What are you saying?"

Adrian drew out a smile. "Damien’s the Beast."


	10. A Man of Wealth and Taste

"Damien? He's… he's the King?"

Charles was sitting properly now and looked up at Adrian, who stood next to one of the dogs with a satisfied smile on his face.

"In the flesh. Born on the sixth of June, of a mighty jackal."

"You mean his mother--"

"Yeah, he was adopted by the Thorns.”

Charles' pentagram necklace burned against his chest, but unlike the Crucifix from the year before, it was a pleasant, soothing warmness. Memories about Damien came to his mind and suddenly everything fit in like a perfect puzzle: Damien’s unquestionable leadership in his circle of friends, how even the entire faculty liked him, his status at the school, the money, the countless times he should have been suspended and nothing happened… the dogs attacking Mr. Kripke...

At the realization, Charles got up in a jolt and started running towards the school building with excitement written all over his face.

"Where are you going?" Adrian yelled.

"To talk to him!"

"He doesn't know!"

"What?"

Charles stopped walking and turned to Adrian.

"He has no idea who he is. Don't do anything stupid."

Charles returned to his spot. Next to him, Adrian had sat down and now pet one of the dogs. Both animals seemed content that afternoon, specially around Charles.

"He really doesn't know?"

Adrian shook his head.

"That doesn't make sense..."

"Tell me about it. But I guess that’s the way things are supposed to be, for now.”

Both dogs started panting happily and wiggling their tales. The one on Charles' right rubbed its nose against his leg while the other one put its paws on his knees. Charles smiled and patted them both.

"These signs you mentioned…" He said to Adrian. "What are they?"

"Some of them are in the school’s records. Come with me, I'll show you."

 

 

 

"You sure we have enough time?" Charles asked.

"Yeah, she's completely out, don't worry. I had to do this the first time, I can tell how much time we have left."

Charles looked at the drugged body of the receptionist spread-eagle on the chair and tapped the desk, waiting for Adrian to finish searching the drawers. The dogs sat at the entrance of the building.

"Will they attack if someone comes in?"

"If they try to stop us, yes. I pity the poor idiot who does."

Adrian took a set of papers joined by the clip, put them on the desk and started flipping through them. Charles came closer.

"Smalling, Stewart, Tate… There it is, Thorn."

It was a file with Damien’s name on top, a younger photo of him at the right corner and information on the rest of the page.

"Read the birth info, Charles."

Charles spotted it with his fingers. "June 6th, 1986. But lots of others were born that day."

"Yeah, the date itself isn't enough. Look at the birthplace."

Charles did so. "Rome… That's where the Antichrist is supposed to be born."

"Exactly," Adrian said.

Charles continued to read the paper. "It says here the Thorns are his birth parents," he pointed out.

"Of course. Can you imagine the shitstorm if people here found out he was adopted? But I know better. You done there?" Charles nodded and Adrian put the papers back in their drawer. "Ritter has a lot of info on Damien. That's how I found out the shithead was touching boys, by sneaking into his little office or whatever it's called".

"I didn’t see anything while I was there."

"Secret drawers, buddy."

Adrian saved the cloth soaked with chloroform in his pocket and shifted the receptionist into a more comfortable position.

"Is it true his father tried to kill him?" Charles asked. “Damien, I mean."

"Yeah…" Adrian was still glancing at the secretary, but turned to Charles. "How do you know that?"

"He used to have nightmares about it."

"I can imagine. He was only six when Thorn tried to get rid of him. He knew too much, that guy."

They left the lobby and went upstairs, where the students chatted in their usual groups, and sat in one of the long sofas.

"It's gonna be great, isn't it?" Charles asked. "When Damien reigns." 

"More than great. It's gonna be perfect."

Charles looked at his friend with hope in his eyes and then turned his attention to Damien, who talked to Cray by the window. He thought that was exactly the word to describe him: Perfect. The perfect King for a new, perfect world.

After a while he started cracking his fingers. He was remembering the day Damien saved a kid from killing himself, how his sole touch calmed him down. But then he recalled a talk he'd had with Father Atkins two years before.

"What is it?" Adrian inquired, glancing at Charles.

"Nothing, I just wonder… Is there a definite proof of this? A priest told me lots of people claimed to be the Beast in the past."

"Yeah, I know about them. They didn't bear the mark."

"The three sixes, you mean?"

Adrian nodded. "Damien has them. Or I assume he does, anyway."

"I haven’t seen any so far."

"You fucking pervert…" Adrian laughed, but Charles was too focused to follow. "You seen him naked or something?"

"Only in underwear. But I didn’t notice any mark."

"It must be on his scalp or foot, then." Adrian made a pause. "Hey, wanna check for yourself? I mean, just to be sure, 'cause to me it's obvious he's the one."

"He's gonna kill me if I go near him," Charles smiled bitterly.

"I still have some chloroform with me."

Charles turned to Adrian quickly. "Don't hurt him!"

"I won't, calm down. He's the Beast, he can take more than any of us."

In that moment Jarod entered the hall, joining Cray and Damien.

"He never gets sick," Charles said in a low voice.

"See? So what’s wrong with--"

"I still don't want you using that on him."

"Fine. I'll use sleeping pills then," Adrian gave his friend a look. "You're really hung up on him, aren’t you?"

Charles nodded.

"Since when?"

"Since I first saw him."

Charles briefly thought of Sergi’s albums and movies still at his room, of how it all seemed to belong to a different world. He understood now, as he watched Damien talk in between smiles, that his entire being was wrapped up by the Beast's presence and it was supposed to be that way. That's why he couldn’t let go, as if a magnetic force was pulling him towards the King, a King that didn’t want anything to do with Charles. But Charles smiled, daydreaming again of Damien going for a run at 5 in the morning, smirking irresistibly, laughing, drinking. If only anyone else at the school knew how special he was…

"Charles?"

"Huh?"

"Pay attention, man. I was telling you I'm gonna go into your room and slip some pills in his beer. Let me know when he passes out, I'll be outside. Got it?"

Charles nodded. "But what if one of his friends comes over?"

"Doubt it. We have exams tomorrow, remember?"

"Oh, right…"

"In any case, the dogs will keep them out."

 

 

 

Damien sat on his bed, studying from his textbook while drinking from a beer bottle. At the bed next to it, Charles had his eyes glued to his own textbook and followed the words with his fingers, but he wasn't studying. From time to time he would quickly look sideways at Damien, checking if the pills were taking effect. Finally, when the bottle was almost empty, Damien yawned loudly and put the bottle on the floor. He laid sideways on the bed and his green eyes drifted into sleep instantly.

Charles walked over to Damien’s bed and sat on it.

"Damien…" He called, nudging his shoulder. "You awake?"

Damien didn’t move, but continued to sleep.

"Come in, Adrian!" Charles shouted.

The door opened and Adrian walked in, his eyes darting towards Damien as he closed the door. The room suddenly felt freezing cold and Charles started shivering, but Adrian didn’t seem to feel the difference. He came closer to Damien’s bed and also nudged him.

"Okay, we’re good,” he concluded and put Damien on his back. “I'll check his feet and you check his head, alright?"

"Okay."

Before fulfilling his duty, Charles turned to the big window and saw that it was closed, as always. He frowned for a moment and approached Damien, still gasping from the cold. With shaky fingers he started exploring his hair, whose texture felt even better than in his fantasies. He brushed every inch of Damien’s scalp until he finally found it: three sixes together, as if carved with blood.

"It's really you…" Charles muttered and fell to his knees, which suddenly felt weak. He was trembling and couldn’t raise his head to look at the presence above him.

_I'm sorry I let you down, Damien. I’m sorry I wasn’t completely loyal. From now on, you'll always be my King._

Adrian had knelt next to Charles and was praying in Latin. He then kissed his own pentagram necklace, got up and approached Damien, putting one of his hands between his and kissing it.

"Goodbye, Damien. You soon will reign."

He turned around, with a completely different expression on his face, and spoke to Charles.

"I have to go. It's kind of late."

Charles got up. "Can you teach me how to pray like you did?"

Adrian smiled affectionately. "All in good time, my friend, all in good time..." he cleared his throat. "Take care of him, alright? He'll sleep all night."

Charles nodded and watched Adrian leave. He then got up, saw the same window opened and went to close it. The room felt a lot warmer now, and as Charles walked towards his own bed and started undressing, he could hear the crows fairly close. He didn't fear them anymore.

Once Charles was changed into his pajamas, he climbed on Damien’s bed and leaned on one elbow while he stroked the other boy’s hair.

"I'll take care of you, love," He said. "Are you cold? 'Cause I already closed the-- Alright, if you say so… I'm covering you up anyway..."

Charles pulled the covers from the other side of the bed and partially covered Damien with them. Then he shifted closer and continued to caress the brown hair, tangling it with his fingers.

"It's a beautiful night, Damien, look… The crows are watching over you… Because you're special, of course... Yes, they’re here every night… Well, you could always need extra care. Why, do you want me to leave?…" Charles waited and smiled. "Yeah, I knew you didn't."

Charles breathed in deeply, feeling Damien’s scent closer than ever before.

"It's always been you, my King. I love you like no other will..." He chuckled lightly and gave Damien his best smile. "More than anyone you'll ever meet in your life… Yes, I'll help you in anything you want..." Charles nodded after a while. "I promise."

Charles checked his watch and got up. He walked over to Damien’s closet, took his blue pajama t-shirt from the first drawer and unfolded it.

"You can't, love," he said as he threw it over the bed. "You're too drunk."

He now took Damien's pajama pants and unfolded them.

"Yeah..." Charles listened and chuckled slightly. "Are you seriously asking me that?" Charles turned around with a smile, the pants still on his hands. "Because you're perfect..." He put the pants on top of the t-shirt. "Well, I wouldn't expect any less from someone who's not human."

He climbed on the bed again, knelt between Damien’s legs and unbuttoned his coat and shirt. Charles' grunted as he pulled Damien up and removed both pieces of clothing.

With Damien on his back again, Charles watched the skin before him, so close he could see the brown navel hair in detail. He sniffed, noticing that Damien's perfume never really vanished, not even late at night.

Charles suddenly laughed and looked up at Damien.

"Okay, it's the last time you drink like this…"

He grabbed the t-shirt from the bed and pulled Damien up again to dress him. When he was done, he smiled and put Damien’s head hair between his fingers, playing with it.

"Nothing, I just want something to remember you by when we leave the school…" Charles listened and nodded. "I do."

Charles leaned over Damien’s nightstand, grabbed a pair of scissors and carefully cut a small lock of his roommate’s hair. He gazed at it for a while, ran to put it in his nightstand drawer and returned to Damien’s bed with his knife.

"Alright, my turn now…"

He climbed on top of Damien, extended one arm and pressed the tip of the weapon against it before making a cut. A drop of blood fell on Damien’s lips.

"Don't be scared, love," Charles muttered as he lowered his wounded arm closer to Damien’s mouth, "it's just blood. And it's all for you."

Charles did a deeper cut, letting more blood drop down. He then withdrew his arm and gently wiped Damien’s lips.

"Thanks, I'm glad you liked it", Charles said with a smile. "It's my gift to you... No, it never hurts when it's for you."

Charles went to the bathroom, cleaned his wound and returned to grab the blue pajama pants from the bed. He dressed Damien into them and put his shoes on the side of he bed he usually woke up to.

"You always fall asleep so fast…" he commented amusingly as he watched Damien.

He then sat close to Damien’s face and gazed at him while brushing his hair.

"Goodnight, my King…" he said in a sweet voice. Then he bent over and kissed Damien’s ear. "I love you so much... " he whispered. "Don't you forget it."

He returned to his own bed and tucked himself in. As he closed his eyes, he heard a single cawing in the distance.

 

 

 

There was a slight knock on the door and Charles went to open it. It was Adrian, in sweatpants and a Hoodie, on his toes as he tried to see the inside of the room.

"Is he still sleeping?" He asked in a low voice.

"Yeah."

"Let's go, then. I wanna talk to you about something."

They left the room and headed for their usual place: at the grandstands, among the two dogs. The animals wiggled their tails at the sight of the two boys and huffed with their mouths shaped in a human-like smile.

Adrian and Charles sat at both sides of one of the dogs.

"What do you want to talk about?" Charles asked as he scratched the back of its ear.

"Well… you saw what you saw last night. Are you in?"

"In for what?"

"To be one of us. A follower of the Beast."

Charles turned to Adrian, remembering what he had promised Damien the night before. "What do I have to do?"

Adrian grinned. "That's my boy. Well, first things first you need to accept our Father in your life and swear loyalty to Him and the Beast."

"Won't I be punished by God?"

Adrian clicked his tongue and said, "Our Father will protect you, once you have the mark."

"So Lucifer is our true Father, not God?"

Adrian looked at Charles like a little brother. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Correct. That throne belonged to Him. He is smarter and better in every way than God. And unlike God, he really does love you, remember that. He loves all of humanity just as we are."

Charles eyes were filled with hope as he watched Adrian suddenly take off his left shoe and sock. He bent his bare foot so that Charles could see: At the center of the sole were three sixes, together, in scarlet red.

"I have the mark since I was ten," Adrian told and quickly put his sock and shoe back on. "It hurt a little at first, but it's worth it."

"How do I get it?"

Adrian narrowed his eyes at the field before answering. "It can be done tonight. Are you free? It has to be very late so we won't get interrupted."

 "Yeah, I'm free. Where?"

"The football field. I'll be waiting at midnight."

 

 

 

Charles stepped on the recently wet grass of the football field, his heart pounding harder each second. Adrian was closer and closer now, his dark eyes radiating calmness in the dimmed lights.

"You came, bud."

Charles chuckled so lowly it was barely audible. "You really thought I wouldn't?"

Adrian shrugged. "Most people chicken out… Let's sit, okay? I’ll be your guide."

They sat with their legs closed in front of each other and Adrian took Charles' left hand into his.

"This is very simple," He said, looking up at his friend. "I'm gonna ask you questions and you have to answer honestly. No hesitations, 'cause that would make our Father angry. And once you've answered something you can’t unsay it. Get it, bud?"

"Yeah," Charles nodded.

"Okay…" Adrian lowered his head again. "Charles Powell, do you accept Lucifer as your Father and swear to serve Him for eternity?"

"Yes," Charles answered. His eyes had closed and his heart kept on pounding.

"Do you renounce God and His Laws and Lies?"

"I do."

"Are you willing to bear the mark of the Beast?"

"I am."

Adrian let go of Charles’ hand and patted his back, smiling. "Welcome, brother."

Charles was looking up in content when a blinding pain hit his head from neck to forehead, seemingly splitting it in halves. He fell to the ground, crying and writhing.

"It's the mark, it's the mark, Charles, hang in there…"

The pit of Charles' stomach started contracting and he collapsed sideways, unable to stop his cries of pain. He then felt the contractions going up until they reached his throat, where an unknown blade-like object was suddenly stuck. Charles started coughing violently, cutting his throat as he did so, then got on his knees and gathered the strength to vomit.

A holy host came out, covered in blood. It was bigger than Charles remembered hosts to be and the letters _IHS_ could be read on it, written in scarlet red.

With blood still trickling from his mouth, Charles felt Adrian’s arms lifting him up.

"You alright, bud? What the fuck… Did you receive fucking communion lately?"

Charles shook his head frantically. In the midst of pain, he could only stare at the large host on the grass. He vomited more blood, which came out like an ever-flowing stream, and coughed painfully.

" _Iesus Hominum Salvador_ ," a deep male voice echoed loudly through the entire field, nearly deafening the two boys. They looked around for the source but found nothing. "Jesus, the Savior of Men. This is the one you're rejecting, Charles Powell. Do you really want your soul to be damned for all time? Is this what you want for yourself?"

"Oh shut up, Michael!" a younger and normal voice said. The boys turned around and found a skinny man in his thirties approaching them. He wore a blue suit and a golden watch. "You just can't stand humans making choices, can you, little brother?"

Adrian had left a still aching Charles in a sitting position and was now kneeling before the man.

"Father…" he said in a feeble tone, head hung.

"Hello, Adrian,” Lucifer put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I see you've behaved well…"

He then walked over to Charles, who could see him more clearly now. He looked a lot like Damien, from the slightly longer brown hair, to the shape of his face and the way he smiled. His eyes, however, where a dark shade of yellow.

"Charles Powell..." He greeted, squatting. "One of God's former little lambs," He added with a chuckle.

Lucifer put a hand on Charles' head and the splitting pain stopped. Still with watery eyes, Charles looked up gratefully.

"Sorry about all the blood, Charles... It seems Daddy really didn't want to let you go."

Damien’s father laughed again, placed one hand over Charles' neck and the other on his stomach. The remaining pain ceased.

"Thank you, Father," Charles said, feeling a bit odd after the words had come out. His earthly father was at home, probably sleeping.

"Forget about him, Charles. I'm your Father now, always have been. Get up."

Charles did so and Lucifer put both hands on his shoulders. "I see you've taken a liking for my son," He said and Charles just stared into the yellow eyes, hoping he'd understand. "You're going to be very important when the time comes. That I can assure you."

Charles couldn’t have explained where they came from, but the words slipped out from him without any restrain.

"Why doesn’t Damien love me?"

"Charles," Adrian interjected but Lucifer turned to him and chuckled.

"No, no, let the boy ask questions," He said and looked at Charles. "My son is an idiot". He now laughed wholeheartedly, but Charles and Adrian didn’t. "Not that I breed idiots, but he's only a kid for now, you know... And I can't help he likes what he likes... Those girls, they'll run away as soon as they find out who he is…" Damien’s father patted Charles, his eyes twinkling in the dark. "I appreciate your loyalty, Charles. Will you stay by Damien’s side?"

"Forever."

"Then you're going to be greatly rewarded," He smiled at Charles, who did the same, and left his shoulders to call for Adrian. The older boy came running, his face glowing in devotion. With both of his children in front of him, Lucifer's eyes twinkled. "It will all begin when Damien turns thirty, the truth will be revealed to him then and only then. So be ready, my children. Won't be an easy path, the Vatican has its own plans too. But we will win, that I can assure you."

He kissed both boys on the forehead and adjusted his tie and suit.

"My work here is done, children. We'll see each other again, when the time comes."

 And he vanished into thin air.

Charles felt his body resting in the comfortable bed of his school dormitory. He opened his eyes and turned to the alarm clock: it was exactly three in the morning.

As Damien slept, Charles went to the bathroom, turned on the light and approached the mirror. He brushed his short hair in all directions until he finally found it: the three sixes carved on his scalp.

Charles turned the light off and got out of the bathroom with a big smile. He looked at Damien.

"I'm yours now, love."


	11. Fire

Charles stood with his back against one of the corridor’s walls, watching with a dreamy smile as Damien and his friends talk inside Jared’s dormitory across him.

"You need to stop drinking so much, dude," Cray said to Damien, snickering.

"What? What are you talking about? I only passed out because I was tired..."

"And you thought you could play hairdresser?"

"What?"

"Some of your fucking hair is missing, man…"

"What?" Damien repeated, touching his hair here and there.

Jarred was squinting at his friend. "It's only a little bit of hair…” He touched a lock of hair on Damien’s left side. “There. Cray's the one who should be a hairdresser, I didn’t even notice shit until he said it."

Damien kept touching his hair, causing the others to laugh. Then he went to the bathroom and, after some seconds, he screamed: “Shit! Fuck!”

The Lions laughed harder.

"You were too drunk and cut it yourself, man," David said.

"Why would I cut my own hair?," Damien said louder and returned from the bathroom. "I was studying and then I felt tired---"

"Yeah, right..." Cray laughed.

Damien suddenly turned around and spotted Charles staring at him with hurt in his eyes. There was silence for a while, then a boy in the back spoke.

"Uh oh, boyfriend trouble…”

The room was filled with laughter.

"Yeah, take care of that, Damien.”

They walked away slowly, David blowing a kiss to Charles on the way. Charles felt the old rage boiling up, but the Lions were soon out of sight and he was left alone with Damien.

"Why did you lie to them?” Charles asked. “Are you embarrassed?”

Damien frowned, a little of amusement in his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The night before last,” Charles said and frowned too. “Don't tell me you don’t remember.”

"Remember? Remember what? That you fucking cut my hair while I was out?!"

Charles was feeling more and more confused. “Out? You were just drunk, and you said it was okay…”

"No, I didn’t! You're fucking crazy…"

Charles looked down. A lump in his throat was growing and his voice shook as he spoke. "Why can't you admit you liked talking to me that night?"

"We never talked! Stop acting like we did!"

"Acting? I'm not---"

Damien pushed Charles against the wall. "Listen, freak, leave alone or you'll get hurt.”

As Damien held tight onto Charles' neck and his eyes flashed in anger, Charles' memories appeared vividly before his eyes. The first time he was really close to Damien, talking to him, feeling his scent, joking, confessing how much he loved him…

He twisted his head to both sides, trying to free himself. _Damien, don’t hurt me. I’m not hurting you_. His lips moved to form a word, but his throat was too choked up.

“What!” Damien said, freeing Charles.

"Why are you being like this all of a sudden?" Charles asked. “I thought we were okay…”

Damien raised his eyebrows as he said, “Jesus fuck... You really are insane.” He exhaled. "Wait a minute, did you dress me too?"

“I didn’t want you to go to bed in your uniform. Do you really not remember--?"

"Leave me the fuck alone!"

Damien walked away to reunite with his friends, at the end of the corridor. Charles got closer, slowly, and listened as David and Damien talked.

“What’d he say?”

“He says that we talked… that night.”

David laughed. “Did you? You have a soft spot for Powell or something?”

“Dude! He’s nuts, you know that…”

“Well… maybe you did talk and you were so drunk you don’t even---“

“No, I do remember being asleep. I slept like a rock. End of story.”

As Damien went to talk with the rest of the Lions, Charles turned around and walked up the corridor. He got inside one of the dormitories, slipped down to the floor and started crying with his head buried between his knees. He was scared someone might hear him, so he tried to control his gasps and keep his shoulders from shaking too much.

_I know you don't love me back but my feelings didn't seem to bother you. I was so happy, Damien, just having you listen to me… And you do remember it, of course. You just can't admit you ever had someone like me by your side._

Charles sniffed and rubbed his left eye.

_But I'm not going anywhere, my King._

“Aw, look, the little faggot is crying…”

Charles’ recognized Josh’s voice and looked up. The same baggy pants, the same greasy hair.

“What’s wrong? You’re not getting enough dick?”

Charles stared at him while he slowly slid a hand down his pocket and grabbed the knife. Then, as Josh started to laugh, he took it out and went for his classmates’ ankles, stabbing a couple of times until Josh and his screams fell to the ground. Charles crawled over and tried to stab him one more time but Josh kicked him away with his feet, making Charles drop the knife. Hissing in pain, Josh crawled closer and grabbed Charles by the neck. 

“Not so brave now, huh?”

He smiled with pursed lips and Charles did the same, for he was smelling the familiar scent of fresh blood and it was sending shots of pleasure all through his body.

“What are you smiling at, weirdo? I’m about to beat the shit out of you.”

“What’s going on here?” an adult voice interrupted.

Josh let go of Charles, leaving him free to see their English teacher standing by the door. He looked down at the blood on Josh’s ankles and then back up at the boys.

“Powell, Principal’s office.”

“He started it!”

“Principal’s office! And I’m taking that weapon.”

 

Charles tapped his foot at emptiness of the office, missing the knife that was taken from him and now laid on the Principal’s desk. He looked up at the clock before him, which marked 6:30, and then his eyes wondered about the place. Finally the door opened again and Charles turned around.

“Your father’s on the phone, Charles.”

Charles got up and walked out of the office and towards the phones hanging off the outside walls. He took the one that was unhung and put it in his ear.

“Hi, dad,” he greeted with a bored tone.

“’Hi’? Charles, you stabbed another student! I didn’t even know you brought a knife to school!”

“It’s to defend myself.”

“Defend yourself? From who?”

Charles said nothing, but he shook his head with a bitter smile.

“Charles?”

“Yeah.”

The boy could hear his father sighing over the phone. “You’re lucky you haven’t been suspended. The Principal is giving you another chance, and he wants to see good grades again.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“You’ll never get into another fight?”

“I promise.”

“If someone’s bothering you, talk to a teacher. Be the boy I raised. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“I have to go now, have a lot of work over here. Take care, son.”

“Thanks, I will. Goodbye, dad.”

“Goodbye.”

As soon as Charles had hung up, the Principal was next to him, staring from behind his transparent glasses. He was an old man, around eighty six, and his suit was of the same colors as the boys' uniform.

"Sit next to me, boy," he said, pointing at the row of seats on the right to the office.

Charles followed him and they sat down. The Principal put a hand on the boy's shoulder and the latter had the impulse of shaking it off violently.

"What happened, Charles?" the old man said. "You used to be one of my brightest students... I know it's not easy to lose one's mother, but it should be a motivation, not an excuse to... to throw it all away. First it was the grades, now this..."

"Sorry, sir," Charles said mechanically. He moved his feet, waiting for the talk to be over.

"Do you mean that?"

Charles let out the tiny, self-assured smile he was used to show to teachers. "Of course I mean it. Why wouldn't I?"

The Principal frowned for a while, then relaxed. "Very well, then. If you do mean it, will you apply yourself next semester?" He asked and Charles nodded. "Not that you need much applying, mind you... But I need you to be focused again. Think of your mother. Think of how proud is she going to be when you finally become a lawyer."

"I'm sure she'll be proud, sir."

"See? That's the Charles Powell I know. I lost my father when I was very young. Thought my entire world was over. And now look at me..." The Principal looked proud, but Charles continued with the same smile and didn't say a word. "Well... I think that's it for now. You can go to your dormitory." 

Charles got up and the old man spoke again.

"No more fights?"

"No more fights."

"Talk to a teacher if you have any trouble. Remember we have the best faculty in all the state.

"Yes, I know we do... Goodbye, sir."

Charles turned around and started walking away.

"Goodbye, Charles!"

 

 

The Lions were gathered around in a circle outside the trailer park, some with liquor bottles and cigarettes on their hands. At the center stood a newcomer, a boy from Charles' class he knew by the name of Brian Welback. His face was a mix of nervousness and excitement as he talked to the boy's closest to him: Damien and Cray. Charles was too far away to make out to hear them, but he could read Cray's lips: _Do it, man._

David approached Brian and showed him his hands with a smirk. Then Brian nodded and got cheers from the rest of the group. As he pulled out his sleeves, Cray took something a spray can out of his pocket and cast some on Brian’s hands. Then Damien smiled, lighted a match and put it against the other boy’s skin. After a spark, a blue light touched Brian's open palms and a blaze of the same color spread through them, lightening the dark. The Lions cheered again.

All the boy's eyes there, including Charles', widened, and there were more shouts of approval. Brian watched the flames go up until Cray's jacket landed on his hands, burning it all out.

Damien came to hug Brian with a grin and the others did the same in turns. Then they sat together and started sharing beer cans and liquor bottles. After a while Damien turned his head back and spotted Charles, who now ran in the opposite direction: towards the fence.

Damien caught him by the arm, the touch sending shivers through Charles.

"Hey, Charles."

The shorter boy avoided Damien’s eyes. "I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore."

Damien snickered. Charles looked up and noticed the whiskey bottle in one hand.

"Wanna give it a try?" Damien asked. "Play with a little fire?

"What?"

"It's fun. And you can hang out with us afterwards."

Charles frowned. On one hand, he didn't understand why Damien was being friendly, and on the other hand the prospect of going through pain for him again was getting him excited. He smiled, without even realizing it.

"Alright," He agreed.

"Sweet. Let's go."

They walked back to where the group was. Some of the boys frowned while others stared blankly.

"Powell’s gonna do it too," Damien announced.

There was murmuring among the crowd.

“Really?” someone said, and Charles searched for the owner of the voice. “You’re not gonna chicken out, Powell?”

“No.”

Now there was chuckling.

“Shit, Powell, you finally grew balls,” David said.

“Are you kidding? He fucking stabbed Fleming this afternoon.”

“Hah! Really?”

“Really. Right, Powell?”

“I did,” Charles answered, feeling truly proud after a long time.

“Hang on a second,” someone else said. Charles was getting dizzy, turning his head left and right. “Does this mean he’ll be one of us?”

“I don’t know,” Damien said. “But he can hang out with us for tonight if he goes through it.”

“I have to see this…”

“Yeah, do it, Damien!”

Damien grinned and looked at Cray. "You still have fuel in there?"

"Yeah, there's still some."

Cray took out the spray can again and told Charles to pull up his sleeves.

"What's that?" Charles asked.

"Butane. Come on."

Charles offered his hands as he watched Damien for signs of approval, but the other boy was too focused in lighting up his match. When the fire appeared, he brought it to Charles' hands and blue flames went up like a bonfire.

Charles stared down his hands in amazement, a pleasant tickling spreading through his skin. He looked at Damien: his roommate stared at the fire with equal fascination, smiling as he did so. Charles was happy to see happiness in those eyes again, instead of resentment. Maybe, if he stayed there, burning for a little while longer… _Do you like me now, Damien? I’m doing this for you. I’d do anything for you, remember?_

Suddenly there was an explosive sound and the flames reached up to Charles’ arms.

“Holy shit…”

“Wow…”

It kept tickling, so Charles was disappointed when he saw Cray taking off his jacket.

“Okay, show’s over,” he said and threw it to Charles.

But the jacket bounced off and the flames grew higher.

"What the fuck…"

"Try again, Cray!"

Just when one of the Lions had shouted that, the fire spread through the rest of Charles’ body, except for his face and neck. The pain kicked in and shot up rapidly, every inch of skin flaying and corroding, and Charles fell to the ground with an agonizing scream. As he writhed and continued to scream, in the middle of the pain and heat, he could still hear the crowd of students murmuring and shouting, followed by footsteps.

His eyes met with Damien’s: The face of the Beast subtlety showed satisfaction and perverse pleasure, not in his mouth, which barely moved, but in his eyes, the beautiful eyes Charles stared into as he begged for fire to stop.

_Damien, why?_

"Damien, stop…" Cray's voice came out like an echo.

But Damien didn't tear his eyes away from Charles, who for a second saw yellow replacing the shades of green. Charles still screamed and moaned as he heard an ambulance wailing in the distance, the crows being a lot louder than usual, teachers’ voices… Then the pain suddenly stopped, and everything went black.

 

 

Charles’ eyes half-opened with difficulty and he groaned, a lesser pain still punishing his skin. He tried to move his hand fingers and found they were restrained by bandages. Over time, as he regained full consciousness, Charles realized his entire body was covered in bandages except for a puncture on his arm, where an intravenous needle rested deep into his skin.

“Father…” Charles called out feebly and opened his eyes fully.

“Charles!” Mr. Powell’s voice came from beside the bed and Charles turned to him, finding him on a chair, blinking and rubbing his eyes, which were red as if he hadn’t slept in ages. “You’re awake!” He flung towards the bed and cupped Charles’ still intact face, then kissed him on the head. “I thought I’d lost you,” he added with a broken voice.

“What day is it?” Charles groaned feebly. His father’s eyes, identical to his, came into new again.

“Thursday.”

“Thursday what?”

“Twenty-second.”

“Does that mean---?”

“Don’t worry about that, son. How’s the pain?”

“Still there…”

Mr. Powell’s eyes watered as he glanced at the bandages. Then he looked away with a sigh. “This is all my fault... I should have paid more attention…" his eyes returned to his son again. "When you were hurting yourself, it was because of the school, because of what those boys were doing to you, wasn’t it?”

 _Partly._ “Yes.”

“When did it start?”

“The first day I arrived…”

“Dear God…” Mr. Powell patted his son’s head. “Why didn’t you tell me, Charles?”

“I don’t know…”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now… It won’t happen again, alright? Not as long as I’m around. I promise.”

Charles nodded as he watched his father sit down on the bed.

“That Josh boy wasn’t there when it happened, was he?” he asked. “One of your teachers told me.”

“No, he wasn’t. It was The Lions. They did it”.

“Is that a sort of group?” Mr. Powell asked and Charles nodded. “They’re the ones who give you trouble?”

“Yes. Except Damien.”

“Damien…” Charles’ father frowned. “Your teacher told me he was the one conducting all the act.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t mean to… the others made him, you have to—“

“You don’t have to make excuses for him if he really hurt you, son. What he did was wrong and I’ll make sure he’s out of the school for it.”

Charles’ eyes narrowed slightly. “You will?” He was surprised he could still feel angry when he was drugged and in pain, but then he thought of Damien's influence and money and was sure his father's efforts were fruitless. His heart went calm again.

Mr. Powell smiled weakly. “You’re my only son. I’m here to protect you.” He made a pause. “Do you want to leave Preston after you recover?”

Charles thought about it. The prospect of going back to school after what had happened and see everybody again was odd and it made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure he could pretend everything was back to normal again. But then… he couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing Damien again, even if he hurt him. _I just want to talk to you, love. I want to understand why._

“Charles…”

“I… I don’t know if I want to go back there.”

“Well… think about it, alright? I only want what’s best for you. I brought you to America because I thought it was the best for you. If I had known…” his eyes darted away for a moment. “But I want to make it up to you. You can pick your new school now, or you can be homeschooled if you want.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

There were three knocks on the door and Mr. Powell went to open it.

“There’s a new visit for your son, sir,” the nurse announced. “If you don’t mind…”

“Is his name Adrian, by any chance?”

The nurse smiled. “Exactly, that’s the one. He’s sitting right here,” she looked at her right, behind the room’s walls.

Mr. Powell leaned over. “Hello, Adrian.”

“Hello, sir,” Adrian’s voice came out, making Charles slightly happy again.

“Come in.”

The nurse and Charles’ father left the room and Adrian appeared at the door.

“Holy shit, man…” he said, looking at Charles from head to toe, and closed the door. “That looks painful…”

“It is…” Charles said and yawned again.

Adrian sat down at the chair where Mr. Powell had been and rested his face in one hand.

“I should have told you before… Don’t provoke the Beast. That’s about the worst thing you can do.”

Charles frowned in annoyance. “I didn’t do anything…”

“Really? The guys from your class told me you followed him around all the time. That sure had him pissed off…”

“I just wanted to be close to him. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

Adrian smiled. “I have, I have, Charles… But this…”

He fell quiet. Charles felt sleepier as time went on and wished he would have the strength to stay alert for the whole conversation.

“I’m a little worried…” Adrian said after a while. “Are you still in? To be a follower.”

“Of course I’m in. I just want…” Charles shifted a little on the bed and suppressed another yawn. “I want to know… how can I make Damien like me? How can I prove myself worthy of him?”

“Interesting question,” Adrian smiled. “We all have to prove ourselves to Damien, not just you, bud. But now it’s not the time. He’s not aware of anything yet. I don’t think he even knows he was in control of the fire that night…”

Charles looked at his friend for a moment. “But how do we prove ourselves? I mean, when the time comes.”

“Blood”, Adrian said and leaned back on the chair. “Damien wants blood, he thrives on it. He doesn’t know it yet, of course, but he does. That’s how you call for the Beast.”

A wicked smile spread across Charles’ lips and Adrian frowned strongly. “I killed Connor’s sister,” Charles said.

“You what?!”

Charles was nearly laughing. “What’s wrong? You said Damien wants blood. I mean, she didn’t literally bleed but--”

“That girl was innocent, that’s different!”

“She wasn’t. She had to die so that Connor would leave me alone. So that he’d leave all of us alone.”

“Well, congrats on that…” Adrian said sarcastically. “How did you even… You drowned her?”

Charles shook his head. “I let her drown. I watched it all, even though I could have jumped into the pool.” The same smile appeared again. “Do you know what it feels like? To watch someone’s life slip out of their bodies and knowing it’s because of you? It’s almost better than sex…”

Adrian raised his eyebrows and rubbed his hair entries. “Jesus fucking Christ… if you excuse the expression.”

Charles’ smile was less spread out this time. “I don’t know why you’re so shocked. You drugged the receptionist and she was sent to a hospital, you were okay with the dogs nearly killing Mr. Kripke…”

“Those were necessary casualties, it’s different. Certain people have to die or get hurt so that Damien can rise to power. It’s tough shit but that’s the way it is. Remember that kid from the rooftop?”

“Yeah. Damien saved him.”

Adrian snorted. “Not quite. He’s catatonic. For life.”

“What? But I saw him. He fell asleep after Damien saved him.”

“Yeah, and then he was sent to the ER and went catatonic.”

Charles frowned.

“Why?”

Adrian sighed before answering. “His father had just been promoted to CEO on Armitage Global. That’s the company Damien’s godfather is the CEO for. So you can see a little conflict of interests there,” he smirked. “John Lyons is supposed to be in charge forever, he is our conductor, if you will. So that kid had to pay… Actually, I taped what he was screaming that day. Wanna hear it? I know you know your Latin, English boy.”

“I do. You have it here?”

Adrian put a hand on his jacket pocket and took out a walkman with a cassette inside. He hit play and the kid’s words filled the room, only slowed down this time.

 _It’s all for you_ [it translated to English]. _I’m doing this for you, Son of the Morning. With my death I serve you_.

“Does it look like he was forced to jump?” Adrian asked.

“No… It looks voluntary.”

“Exactly.”

“Then why did Damien save him?”

“He still has free will. But as you can see, not even his wishes triumph the ones of our Father. That kid’s dad had to quit Armitage to take care of him.” Adrian suddenly chuckled. “Poor son of a bitch…”

Charles closed his eyes and shifted on the bed again, his head resting comfortably on the pillow. _I’ll prove I’m worthy of you, my King. You’ll see, and you’ll finally like me_.

“You sleeping there?” Adrian asked. “Must be the morphine…”

“Yeah, I’m sleepy…” Charles answered and opened his eyes. “But I was just thinking, that’s all… I can stay awake if you want to talk.”

“It’s alright. You need to rest. I’m just gonna go.” Adrian put the Walkman back in his pocket and got up. “You’re coming back to school after this, right?”

“I don’t know, actually. I have to talk it over with my dad.”

“Huh. Well, you can call or e-mail me in any case, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Charles nodded.

Adrian approached the bed and messed with Charles’ hair, smiling. “Good luck, little brother. Stay loyal.”

Charles smiled back. “I will, thanks.”

Adrian walked towards the door, opened it and turned around. “Bye!” he waved.

“Bye…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly the shortest chapter! :) (well, except for the first one)
> 
> I don't know if the fire scene came out good. I had a lot of problems with the science stuff (hey, I'm a writer) and it's -canonically- the most important scene in the entire story, so sorry if the writing was mediocre or whatever.


	12. It's All For You

Charles stared at his new skin and pinched it: white as cotton, thick and leather-like. It still hurt a little, but he didn’t need the morphine or painkillers anymore, only the antibiotics that occupied his arm vein.

Someone knocked on the door but came in anyway. It was the nurse. She carried a chart and a pen with her.

"Good morning, Charles."

"Morning."

"How are you? Has the other nurse washed you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Had breakfast?"

“Yes.”

The nurse wrote something on the chart and went over to the IV bag hanging from a pole. She set the speed of the medication higher.

"Another friend of yours wants to see you."

"Who?" Charles asked, slightly scared.

"Cray Marquand is his name."

"Oh."

"Do you want me to tell him to come back another time?"

"N-no, it's fine. Send him in"

"Okay, great," the nurse walked towards the door. "See you at three with your lunch."

She left and was replaced by Cray, who stood at the doorframe with horror in his eyes.

“Jesus…” he said, and closed the door without turning around. “I’m sorry, Charles. I really am.”

Charles looked at Cray for a while, then hid his arms beneath the bed covers.

“I’m not talking to Damien anymore, if you must know”, Cray added and sat on the chair. “He has been creeping me out since that day at the rooftop… There’s something off about him.”

Charles’ hands clenched under the bed and he said, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that weird shit always happens around him. There’s stuff you don’t know about, stuff from before you came to the school.”

“Like how Paul died?”

“Yeah…” Cray’s eyes went back to looking horrified. “You really believe that was an accident?”

“I… I don’t know.”

They both stared at the news on the tv for a while.

“I think Damien will be expelled,” Cray said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, your dad is on meetings with the school board. He says he’ll sue the school unless Damien gets expelled. “

Charles stayed quiet and Cray gazed at him from the chair.

“You still like him, don’t you?” he asked but Charles didn’t answer. “I know I’ve been an asshole about it. I’m sorry.”

Charles merely nodded. His phone beeped, making his already anxious heart jump. He reached for it on the bedside table and saw that it was a text message from Adrian.

_I got Ritter. Sent photos and tapes to CNN last night._

Charles had a lot of trouble typing with his numb and scarred fingers. In the end he only sent a “great” as a reply and put the phone back on the table.

“I have to go,” Cray said and got up. “When are they releasing you?”

“Saturday.”

“Huh, so pretty soon…” Cray put his hands in his pockets and let out a sigh. “I guess… I’ll see you then. Bye, Charles.”

“Bye…” Charles said as Cray walked out of the room.

Charles fidgeted on the bed and tried to focus his attention on the tv again, but he found it impossible. His initial idea had grown into racing thoughts that took over his mind as he stared at the ceiling.

After sometime, he heard the door open and turned around, blinking: his father was in the room again.

“How are you, son?” he asked with a smile, approaching him.

“Fine…” Charles answered as he tried to bring himself back to the present time.

“Good…” Mr. Powell said as he sat down on the bed. “I need to talk to you about something before your release.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“They’re sending me to a convention Saturday afternoon… in Newark. I really wanted to excuse myself from it but the buffet told me I have no choice. So you’ll have to take care of yourself until I come back, which should be Sunday at noon… Can you do that?”

Charles nodded, trying to hide his excitement.

“That’s my boy. I’ll leave your food and medication ready, alright?”

“Alright.”

Mr. Powell got up. “I must go now. I have another meeting with the school board. Is there anything you need, son?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Great. See you later, then.”

As soon as the door closed, Charles started looking around the room. The antibiotics dropping down and reaching his vein, burning creams, healing pills… no, that wasn’t going to work. He turned his head towards the bed on his right: the old man that had been there before Charles slept in hoarse breaths, his skinny chest going up and down. Suddenly, the steady beeps coming from the machine next to him turned into a long beep and the man wasn’t breathing anymore.

A flock of nurses came in and started putting their equipment over the old man’s nightstand. Charles watched as one of them filled up an injection and shot it directly at the man’s heart. He jerked up on the bed and let out raspy breaths.

After the nurses had calmed the man down, adjusted his medication and wrote things in their pads they started leaving the room. Charles waited until the last one remained to speak.

“Excuse me… Miss?”

“Yes, what can I help you with?”

“What did you give him?” Charles asked as he glanced at the old man, who was sleeping again.

“Adrenalin,” the nurse answered. “One shot through the heart and you’re as good as new,” she added with a chuckle.

“Oh,” Charles said.

“Is there anything you need, young man?”

“No, I’m fine.”

 

 

Charles stepped inside the chapel with a bag on his shoulders and a hoodie over his head. As he tried to cover the most of his face with it and looked around the empty seats, he walked carefully, not wanting to make any noise. It took him a while to reach the wall next to the sacristy, and he had to hold his breath. He listened.

“Open your mouth, Elliot,” Father Ritter said.

“I don’t want to,” a little kid’s voice answered.

Father Ritter clicked his tongue. “Now, that’s not the way an altar boy behaves…”

“But it tastes bad…”

“Come on, boy, you know that’s not true… It tastes like those lollipops I gave you last Sunday… Do you want some again?... Then make me happy. Open your mouth and be a good boy.”

Charles’ stomach was turning the entire time, and it only got worse when he heard Ritter speak again.

“That’s it, Elliot... I knew you were better than the others…”

“I am?” Elliot asked.

“Of course. You’re my favorite.”

There was a pause, during which it was hard for Charles not to picture Ritter’s penis on the kid’s mouth. He grimaced and blinked strongly.

“Can I leave now?” Elliot said.

“Not yet. You promise you’d swallow my special gift, remember?”

Charles was forced to listen to it all: Ritter grunting for a good while before he started gasping, and the sound of the little boy’s mouth and lips moving.

“You didn’t swallow everything, Elliot…”

“It’s a lot, Father.”

“Yes, you make me very happy. Did you like it?”

“It was salty.”

The priest laughed. “You will like it more each time, I promise…” the priest said. “Now go, boy. And be back here in half an hour.”

“Okay.”

Charles ran to hide behind an image of Saint Peter and waited until the door locked. Seconds later he saw Elliot walking between the aisles of seats and ran after him, again careful of not making too much noise. When he was fairly close he put a glove-covered hand over the little boy’s mouth and pulled him closer.

“Sssh, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Charles whispered while Elliot breathed rapidly. “I’m here to save you. Let’s go outside, alright?”

Charles removed his hand and put a finger over his mouth as he looked at the child, who started walking along him. When they reached the exit Charles sat down at one of the steps. Elliot looked down at him.

“Why do you use gloves?”

“I had an accident.”

“Oh… can I see?”

Charles chuckled. “You wouldn’t want to…”

“Can I see for just a second?”

“Alright…”

Charles pulled up a bit of the glove of his left hand, grimacing as the sun hit his burning scars.

“Wow…” Elliot said as Charles covered his hand again. “Does it hurt?”

“A little…”

The sun was full, shinning down on Elliot’s alb and making Charles squint in discomfort. He was disgusted by it and also by the Saints statues inside the chapel, the colors, the crucifix… but he took a deep breath, gaining strength to speak.

“I heard you and Father Ritter from the outside. He did the same thing to me, that’s what I asked you to be quiet. He can’t know I’m here again.”

“He gave you his special gift too?”

Charles grimaced at the phrasing, but continued. “No… I escaped on time. Someone helped me escape.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong, what he does.”

“Father Ritter likes me. He thinks I’m special. And He’s friends with my parents.”

Charles looked up, noticing small sores on the corners of Elliot’s lips.

“He’s hurting you…”

“Sometimes it hurts… But I don’t wanna disappoint God.”

Charles grimaced again, sighed and kept on talking.

“Who’s the other altar boy?”

“Brandon.”

“Is he your friend?”

Elliot made a face. “I don’t know… He’s angry all the time. He yells at me. But sometimes he cries, specially when he’s in the bathroom. He cries when he’s doing number two and always takes a long time.”

Charles' eyes widened as he realized the full meaning of Elliot’s words. He covered his horrified breathing with a heavy sigh.

“I asked him if he was sick,” the child continued, “but he said no. I think he’s crazy. “

“He’s not crazy. Come here, Elliot,” Charles tapped the space on his right. “Sit next to me.”

“Okay.”

Elliot sat down and Charles looked into his eyes.

“Listen. Father Ritter is doing bad things to Brandon. Very bad things. I can’t tell you what they are because you’re still a child, but it’s happening. Do you understand?”

Elliot nodded. “Mom says the same thing all the time, that I’ll know when I’m older. Why can’t I know now?”

“Because… what’s the point of knowing if you won’t understand anyway? Besides, it’s too horrible… but I need you to do something for me, for Brandon.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve found a way Ritter can’t hurt Brandon anymore…” Charles said and searched in his pants pocket. He took out a small plastic bag with a white powder substance inside. “If he eats this, he will fall asleep and you and Brandon will be able to escape.”

“He’ll fall asleep during Mass?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about it. A friend of mine has told the television about what Ritter is doing. He’ll go to jail and Brandon will stop crying and yelling at you. Don’t you want that?”

Elliot nodded again. “Yes. What do I have to do?”

Charles smiled and held the bag higher, waving it. “Just put this on the wine and the hosts before the Mass begins. Use it all. You and Brandon aren’t old enough to take Communion, are you?”

“No, we’re only seven.”

“That’s good, so you won’t fall asleep. When Ritter does, you and Brandon escape through the altar boy’s room. That’s where the other exit is, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Elliot nodded.

“Good. So you close the inside door and leave the exit door opened for me, okay?”

Elliot nodded again. “And what do we do after that?”

“Wait for me outside the chapel, at the main entrance.”

“Okay. That’s a lot to remember,” Elliot said and let out a small chuckle.

Charles smiled. “Don’t worry, Elliot. I trust you. You’re smart. So, three things: Put the dust in the wine and hosts, escape with Brandon after Father Ritter falls asleep, leave the other exit door opened and…”

“That’d be four things.”

Charles chuckled. “You’re right, they’re four. I hadn’t noticed. Anyway, you leave which door opened?”

“Ours. Then we wait for you outside the chapel, right?”

“Exactly. See? You’re smart,” Charles smiled and Elliot smiled back.

Charles gave the Elliot the bag and the child hid it beneath his white sleeve.

“I’m going now,” he said, getting up. “I think the Mass is starting soon. It was nice meeting you. What’s your name?”

“Charles.”

Elliot smiled and faced the entrance of the chapel. “Bye, Charles,” he waved.

Charles chuckled. “I’ll be at the Mass.”

“Oh… then it’s… ‘See you later?' I think that’s what Mrs. Fowler taught us.”

“Yes, it’s 'see you later',” Charles said with a smile.

“Okay… See you later, Charles.” Elliot said and stared towards the chapel entrance. “See you later, see you later,” he repeated to himself.

 

 

It was past eight in the morning when Charles heard, from the left corner of the very last row, a woman's heels approaching. He turned around and saw a family of four: a blond woman, his brunette husband, a college-aged boy and Josh. It was hard to recognize Josh at first because he wore a suit, like his relatives, and his hair was clean and well-kept.

Charles turned around before Josh noticed anything and continued to watch and listen to the Mass. Ritter was starting the Responsorial Psalm, and Charles found himself in a twisted smile as he repeated it, head down.

_I will pour clean water on you and wash away all your sins._

_A clean heart create for me, O God,_

_and a steadfast spirit renew within me._

Now he was laughing a soundless laugh.

_Cast me not out from your presence,_

_and your Holy Spirit take not from me._

As the Mass went on, Charles played a game on his phone. Some minutes later he got a text message from Adrian. Story's out tonight. Watch it, it said. Awesome, will do, Charles answered.

Charles looked up at the altar again: He still couldn’t believe how the adults in the chapel hadn’t noticed how utterly miserable Brandon was. Charles could see it in his eyes, the exact same shade of green as his, who looked everywhere but at Ritter. The small hands fidgeted, painting the picture of sadness and fear more clearly. Charles knew it. _Don't resist boy, this is God's love manifesting through me._

The necklace on his chest burned delightfully again as the Communion time came closer. He checked the time on his watch and looked up again: Ritter was pouring the wine from the chalice into his mouth, Charles pursing his lips in anticipation. The priest then prayed to himself and put the hosts in the tray. When he stepped down from the altar, the boys were already at each side with huge books on their hands and the faithful had formed a line.

Charles was the only one staying at his seat. His heartbeat accelerated as he watched Ritter dip each host into the chalice and give the sacrament to each person. Elliot looked at Charles, who gave him a reassuring nod and checked his watch again.

He also noticed Josh wasn’t at the chapel anymore, but decided to leave it for later.

Ritter went back to the altar with Elliot and Brandon and put the chalice and tray back in its place. While he was praying, his head wobbled, his eyes closed and he fell backwards.

There were screams and gasps. All of the faithful quickly surrounded the priest's body and tried to wake him, while Elliot took Brandon by the hand and the two freed the scene through the altar boy's room on the right.

Charles took out several stink bombs from his pockets. He threw two before the altar and other two on the central aisle, the smell of skunk filling the chapel as people covered their noses or bent over to vomit. Charles took the chance to get up, also covered, and ran outside the chapel. Then he quickly closed the door and slid the large, rectangular piece of wood from right to left so that it locked the people inside.

He turned around, panting, and saw the boys already in their regular clothes.

"You're safe now," he said. "Go."

"Who are you?" Brandon asked.

"He's the one who made Father Ritter sleep," Elliot told him.

"Really?" Brandon looked at Charles. "He's not gonna come for me?"

As someone from the inside banged on the door loudly, Charles shook his head. "I promise," he said with a tiny smile. "Just go--"

He was interrupted by Brandon embracing him by the waist. "Thank you," the child said, making Charles smile wider and put a hand on his small head.

"Don't tell your parents anything, okay? Otherwise my plan won't work. Just tell them Father Ritter got sick."

"Okay," Brandon said and looked up. "But my mom died. I only have my dad."

With a sudden lump in his throat, Charles put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You'll be fine, Brandon", he said, looking into the identical eyes. "Now go."

Brandon joined Elliot, and the truth ran out until they hit the streets, where Brandon started waving goodbye.

Charles smiled again and turned around. He had just done so when he heard a familiar sound: the sound of a penis being sucked on. It came from the bushes at the right side of the garden, a considerable distance from the chapel. Charles followed the sound in long, careful steps.

Keeping his distance and through the bushes, Charles recognized him: Josh was on his knees and had an older boy's penis in his mouth. He sucked on it, humming as he did so and helping himself with one hand.

"Yeah…" the stranger snarled, bucking his hips as he placed a hand on Josh’s head. "Take it, slut."

With a smirk, Charles put his bag down and took out a cloth and a bottle of chloroform. He poured the liquid onto the first item, put both of them back in the bag and, getting up, hanged it over his shoulders. Holding his breath, he walked carefully until he was behind the older one. Charles got on his toes and quickly put the cloth over his mouth.

The stranger shook his head in resistance and screamed, but he was quickly unconscious and over the grass.

Josh was leaning back on his hands, and his dark eyes went from the body up to Charles, who was smirking.

"Tastes good, doesn’t it?" the English boy asked.

Charles grinned wider at the shocked look on his bully's face.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Charles laughed. "I could ask you the same thing. Sucking a cock next to the house of the Lord? That's just wrong, you faggot."

Josh glanced at the body and sniffed. "What do you want?"

"Well, first things first…" Charles squatted, took his father's chef knife from his jacket pocket and put it against the stranger's neck. "Don’t try anything funny or he dies." He glanced at Josh and saw fear for the first time. "I see you get it… Now, I want you to text your parents telling them you love sucking dick."

"What?"

"You heard me. Tell them you're a faggot and you love sucking dick. Do it or your boyfriend dies."

"He's not my boyfriend," Josh muttered.

Charles snickered. "So you really are a slut…"

They stared at each other for a while, Charles amused and Josh horrified.

"Go on, Josh, go on. I don't have much time. And hand me the phone afterwards."

Josh took out his phone and started typing nervously. After a while he stopped and looked up at Charles, who pressed the knife harder as a warning.

"You don't have to do this," Josh said, his voice shaking. "I could blow you instead."

Charles chuckled. "What do you take me for? Just because today you took a shower for the first time in your life?"

"Please… My parents can't --"

"You think I give a fuck? Send that message or I'll kill him."

Josh resumed his typing and Charles waited. The young man on the grass seemed to be twenty or twenty two, and wore a Columbia University jacket.

"You done?" Charles asked Josh without looking at him.

"Yeah… Yeah, I've finished."

Charles looked up in time to receive the phone in his hands. He checked the carpet for the sent messages and read in silence:

_To Mom; Dad_

_I'm a faggot. I love sucking dick._

Charles smiled smugly. "Well done, Josh. You're free now."

But Josh didn't move. He stared at the young man's body. "What about him? Wake him up!"

"He'll wake up when the Mass is over. So just wait for mum and dad to come out of the chapel. They'll want to meet your boyfriend."

Josh looked at his classmate with pure hatred, but didn't say a word.

"Or, you could take the easy path: Leave him here and tell your parents the text was a mistake. Which one will you choose, Josh?"

Charles threw the phone back at Josh and watched him got up and walk past him. Turning around, he followed Josh's path towards the chapel with his eyes until he decided to do it with his feet. It only took him a couple of steps to get a few inches behind, cloth in one hand and knife in the other.

Just when Josh stopped on his tracks and turned his head an inch, Charles put the cloth over his mouth while he slaughtered his neck. The cut was quick, sharp, and, as Charles could check when he let the body fall back, left a thin line of blood on Josh’s neck.

Charles knelt next to the body, panting heavily and staring at the blood. He wished he could dive in it, become part of it.

After a while he got to his feet and started dragging Josh's corpse to reunite him with the other, unconscious body. Grunting, Charles managed to positioned both of them in a cuddle, with Josh behind the stranger. He smirked as he got up and admired the scene.

"You do look like lovers now."

 

Charles turned around and walked towards the small opened door at the corner of the chapel, preceded by a staircase. Inside, the altar boy's regular clothes hung from different hangers and a wooden seat laid next to the door.

Charles opened it and the scene he found made him feel satisfied: the faithful's unconscious bodies were scattered around the chapel, some near the altar, some at the seats, others near the front door. Charles jumped over an old couple to get closer to where Ritter laid.

He knelt next to the priest, put the bloody knife and bag on the floor and took out his gloves. After putting them inside the bag, he grabbed the knife, bent over a bit and ripped Ritter's white robe apart until he was only in his underwear. Charles put the knife next to him, took the packing tape out of his bag and ripped out several, long strips. After putting Ritter's limbs in a crucifixion position, Charles used the tape to trap his arms and legs. He stared down for a while before using more tape and pressing it against the skin.

Charles saved the tape on his bag and grabbed a syringe from it. He inserted the needle onto the priest's chest, quickly pulled back on the plunger and injected the drug with the same speed. Ritter woke up heaving and blinked as Charles pulled the needle out with a smirk.

"Hello, Ritter," He said, savoring the fear on the priest's face and his jerking as he tried to set himself free. "The Beast sends his regards."

The priest gasped, much like a scared child, and shook his head.

"No… It cannot be…"

"Oh yes, it can. I'm here on His behalf."

Ritter shut his eyes. "Protect me, Lord, from the power of the wicked…"

"Shut up!" Charles ordered and did a sharp, deep cut on the priest's left cheek. "Where are the files?"

"What files?"

"Are you taking me for a fool? The files on Damien."

The priest kept his mouth shut, eyes on Charles as he panted for breath.

Charles did another cut on him, this time on the right here. "Where are they?"

"At the sacristy. There's a secret door on the first drawer, the one next to the closet."

Charles left the knife away from Ritter, got up and went to the sacristy, where he spotted the aforementioned drawer and opened it. It had white rosaries inside.

"What did you do to the people here?" Ritter asked.

"They're sleeping," Charles answered as he slid the drawer's door. There was a pile of pictures, with one of an infant Damien on top. Charles recognized him by the hair, albeit darker, and the eyes, ever so green. He smiled tenderly and realized he could recognize Damien at any age, everywhere.

"Repent, boy," the priest spoke again, making Charles frown at the interruption. "Embrace Christ again while you still can."

Charles sneered at the words. "Lucifer is the true light, not Christ. He marked me as His son, Ritter."

The priest shouted something, but Charles wasn’t listening anymore. He was looking at the other photograph, the one below Damien’s. It was a young woman hanging dead from a rope at a mansion. Charles flipped it over and found the following text: _Damien Thorn's birthday party - 06/06/92._

The third picture was one of a priest impaled to the ground by a large rod. The legend said: _Father Brennan, June 1992. A devout life ended by the powers of the Beast._

Below it was a poem written in erratic calligraphy and old ink.

_When the Jews return to Zion_

_and a comet rips the sky_

_and the Holy Roman Empire rises_

_then you and I must die._

_From the eternal sea he rises_

_creating armies on either shore_

_turning man against his brother_

_'til man exists no more._

"You have your way with words, Ritter," Charles commented, but found no answers.

He flipped the hard paper and found more words in the back.

_Be careful, Father Ritter, for the Beast is not an infant anymore. Watch your every step. May God's blessing be with you during your mission. We trust you on this._

Charles ran back as quickly as he could to where Ritter laid, knelt down and grabbed the knife.

"Did you try to kill Damien?" He asked, pressing it against his neck.

"I-I wasn't sent to kill him... Only to watch him..."

"Don't lie to me, Ritter."

"I'm not lying… I-I took photos of him while I was following him… They're in the same pile as the others…"

The priest’s words were confirmed by a stack of photos Charles found in another drawer, photos of Damien going in and out of the school building and at his house, surrounded by relatives.

Charles left the photos and looked around the sacristy, spotting a scourge with nails at every tip laying inside a closet. "Have you been naughty, Ritter?" he asked as he grabbed the scourge. "Wanna play?"

He found Ritter even more sweaty and pale than he had left him, now glancing at the scourge as his fists clenched in anxiety. Charles knelt between the priest's legs and sat down.

"Tell me, Ritter," he said, brandishing the scourge with one hand. "How many kids have you abused? Five? Ten? Fifty?"

"I did them no harm," the priest wailed. "They wanted it too-"

A whip penetrated Ritter's abdomen flesh and stayed there, the nails puncturing the skin. Screams filled the chapel.

"Wrong answer," Charles said as he pulled the scourge out with some difficulty. "I'll ask again, Ritter. How many?"

"Y-you don't understand, I'm liberating them…"

Charles sneered. "Like you liberated me?"

As he remembered Ritter's hand on his penis and the smell of his mouth forcing itself inside, Charles whipped the priest so many times he lost count. When he finally stopped, the sobs and moans from Ritter reached his ear. Clots of blood covered the man's abdomen and chest, and the smell went up to Charles' nostrils, warm and penetrating.

"How many kids, Ritter?" Charles asked again, panting.

"Ten…" Ritter whimpered. "My ten children."

"How many in New York?"

"Four."

"See how easy it is to give straight answers?"

Charles got off of Ritter and knelt below his right arm, still with the knife in one hand.

"I've got a surprise for you, Ritter…" Charles said softly as he opened the priest's palm. "You'll love it." He pointed the knife at the center of Ritter’s hand and, in a strong and swift movement, nailed it down.

The priest’s screaming was so loud Charles got scared someone might come in, but they were quickly replaced by wails in a small voice.

"Please... Please, stop."

"Don't resist, Ritter. This is Lucifer manifesting through me. Can you feel His love in here?"

The cold and naked fear on the priest's face put a smirk on Charles face. The boy then removed the knife and penetrated the other hand.

Father Ritter screamed again and squirmed.

"Call the police, I'll turn myself in," he said in a wheezy voice, his lips trembling. "Run away and I won't tell them you did this to me."

"You deserve worse than prison. You're going to die here, Ritter. I thought you'd already realized that."

"If you kill me others will replace me…" Ritter's painful face made way for satisfaction. "We're thousands. Millions. And we're everywhere...” He breathed heavily. “We'll win this war… You'll see."

Charles removed the knife from the priest's hand and drew out a tiny smile.

"You've spoken enough for today, Ritter."

He stabbed him deep in the chest, making the priest's eyes broaden and his mouth open in a death rattle. He retreated the knife and stared at him, wanting his eyes to be the last thing Ritter saw before he died, and the priest stared back with a look Charles knew too well: _Please… Please don’t let me die_.

After some seconds, Ritter’s eyes shut and he breathed no more.

Charles stared at the sullied body for a while, noticing how the blood smell wasn’t pleasant anymore but putrid, as if Ritter had been laying there for days.

Wrinkling his nose, he pulled down the priest's underwear, held the penis up and started cutting it with the knife. The process took him longer than he had planned, but after a lot of grunting and sweating the member was finally out. Panting and grimacing, Charles shoved it inside Ritter's mouth.

"You should have kept that thing in your pants."

The boy sighed, his hands hurting from all the action of the day He got up and went to the chapel’s bathroom, behind the confessional, where he washed his bloody hands and cleaned the knife and the red stains on his hoodie. When he was done he took the later off, returned to where Father Ritter laid dead and pushed it inside his bag together with the knife.

Charles scanned the chapel for any children. He found one, just a little older than Brandon and Elliot, sleeping on his mother's shoulder.

Charles carried him out through the altar boy's room and laid him down on the garden, far away from Josh and the other boy.

He returned, panting, got two whiskey bottles out of his bag and opened them. Charles started walking around the entire chapel, pouring the liquor onto the floor, seats, the faithful's bodies and Ritter himself. Afterwards he went back to the altar and saved the bottles in his bag.

Charles stepped down to the central aisle, where lighted a match and threw it down. The flames, this time of an orange color, spread through the aisle quickly and went up with a blowing sound, leaving Charles mesmerized for a few seconds.

He threw more lightened matches around the chapel: on the seats, at the entrance and finally onto Father Ritter’s body. He then took a red rose out of his pocket and placed it next to the chalice, on the altar.

 

Charles quickly put on his gloves again and checked that everything else was saved in his bag: the injection, the small adrenaline bottle, the knife, bottles and cloth. He zipped his bag, put it over his shoulders and ran out, closing the altar boy's room on the way.

Charles found Josh and the stranger in the same position.

He ran towards them and spread what was left of the second whiskey bottle over their bodies. The match lightened more quickly this time so he threw it over the dead. He watched the flames for a while and then walked towards the closed entrance of the chapel, where the heat could be felt from the outside.

Charles knew he couldn’t stay there for long, but the sound of the fire spreading was making him stay. To him it was hypnotic.

_Look at all those Christians, Damien, burning for you. Can you feel it? I hope the amount of bodies is enough for you, love. Would hate to disappoint you again._

Charles put a hand in his jacket pocket and took out Damien’s hair lock, still intact from the fire at Preston Hall. He gazed down at it, an almost imperceptible smile on his face, and brought it to his nose.

_My King…_

 

 

Charles leaned back on the couch as he laughed at the programme on the tv and ate pizza. His father opened the front door and his face had both happiness and surprise in it.

"Charles... Why are you on your pajamas? It's past noon."

"I just didn’t feel like showering."

"Huh…" Mr. Powell left his suitcase on the floor and loosened his tie. "Have you taken your medication?"

Charles nodded and looked at his father. "You're back quite late, dad."

"Yes, they made us stay at the hotel for longer," Mr. Powell said as he went to sit next to his son. "Marcia couldn’t find her purse."

Charles' father put a hand on his son's shoulder, making him hiss in pain. The man frowned.

"It wasn't hurting you this much anymore... Have you been outside?"

"I went to water the roses... I don't like being locked up."

"I know it's hard, Charles, but it's for your own good." Mr. Powell looked into his son's eyes. "Be strong, okay?"

Charles turned his head and nodded with a smile.

"Now, let's watch some news," Mr. Powell said, grabbing the remote.

"Dad..."

But the news channel was already on. A reporter talked over the images of the burned down chapel.

" _We still don't know if the tragedy at St Peter's chapel was a mass-murder or an accident. The mutilated body of Father Thomas Ritter, New York's bishop, would indicate at least one murder…_ "

"What kind of maniac would do something like this?" Mr. Powell commented. "So many people in there…"

"Yeah…" Charles said. "It's awful. Didn’t you see anything on your way here?"

"I took the other route."

" _We've got another breaking news, dear viewers, this time about Father Ritter himself. An anonymous source gave us photographs that imply him in a case of pedophilia. Due to the nature of the pictures, we ask for viewer's discretion_ ".

In the first picture there was Elliot giving oral sex on Ritter, both the penis and the child's face pixelated. The second picture showed Brandon bent over and Ritter behind him with a hand on his crotch.

"Jesus Christ..." Charles' father said. "Wait a minute… Charles..."

"Yeah?"

"Wasn’t that the chapel you once went to? That priest never touched you?"

"Not a hair."

"You can tell me if he did. No more secrets between us, remember?"

"Dad, don't you think I'm too old for his tastes?"

"Don't joke about these things, Charles."

"Sorry."

Mr. Powell turned the tv off and looked at his son.

"Enough of bad news. I've got good ones for you."

"Really? What is it?"

"Damien Thorn is out of the school, so you don't have to worry about coming back… if you want to, I mean… What’s wrong, son? Are you upset?"

"No, no, just surprised."

"You don’t trust your father's skills?" Mr. Powell chuckled. "It was more of a mutual agreement rather than expelling him, but it was worth it. Are you going to a new school or are you staying at Preston?"

"A new one… Where will Damien go?"

"Why the interest?"

"Just curious..."

"Out of New York, as far as I know…"

Charles sank on the couch, his mind quickly going through as many American cities as he could remember and hoping Damien’s choice wouldn't be too far from New York.

"Where do you want to go?" Mr. Powell asked.

"Anywhere you choose, dad… As long as it isn't a boarding school," Charles chuckled.

His father also chuckled. "Fair enough. I'll find a place".

 

 

It was late at night and quietness reigned in the Powell’s house. Charles sat on his bed, counting all the money he had. After he had finished he saved the money in his wallet and put the latter into one of his bag's pockets.

His phone vibrated. It was a message from Adrian.

> _That was messy, Charles. What the hell were you thinking?_

>> _I won't get caught._

> _My cousin's a cop. He says they've found a single fuckin brown hair outside the chapel._

Charles didn't reply. He continued to put things in his bag.

> _If you get Damien into this mess I fuckin swear we're done._

>> _We'll stop being friends because I killed some Christians?_

> _No, because you're sloppy and Damien doesn’t need someone like you._

Charles was hurt. He turned off the phone and shakily put it in the bag's front pocket. He looked all around the room to check if he wasn't missing anything and got up with the bag hanging from his shoulder.

The basement was pitch black, so Charles turned on the light. He went down the staircase and found what he was looking for laying on the floor: a hammer. He grabbed it and headed for the furnace, where he knelt down and shut off the entire system. He then started hitting the firebox with the hammer over and over until he was panting and grimacing in pain, and finally saw with satisfaction a visible crack.

Charles put down the hammer and lighted a matched to fire up the furnace, the familiar sound of flames reaching his ears. He slid up the furnace door to check and got up, putting the matchbox back in his pocket.

After shutting all the vents in the house, Charles went up to his father's room. Mr. Powell slept soundlessly, with calm, almost as if he was having a pleasant dream. His son walked closer, took a black rose out of his jacket pocket and put it over the bed.

"Goodbye, John," he said and got out of the room, leaving the door opened.

As he went down the stairs, Charles sang softly. _I’ve seen the sky just begin to fall and you say, “all things pass into the night...”_

 

 

Charles saw the ad on the shop window and knocked on it urgently. He looked up and down the Avenue and was glad there wasn’t any shadowy figure coming near him.

The front door finally opened. A woman was shivering, coat on and hair messy.

"We're closed for the night, young man. What do you want?"

"I know it's late and I'm really sorry for this, Mrs. But I saw the ad and I just wanted to…" Charles looked down. "My parents died. I've just came from the suburbs and I was wondering if I could take the job. I know a lot about roses."

The woman glanced at him, her eyes softening.

"Poor thing. You have nowhere to stay?" Charles shook his head. "Okay, you can sleep here for the night. Come in."

Charles stepped in with a slight smile. The room had only two colors: grey and white. There was a receptionist glass desk at the back and glass shelves at both sides of the room containing roses of all types.

Without realizing it, Charles walked towards one of the shelves and looked up at a line of yellow roses on the fourth row, each different from the other. Charles couldn’t help but raise his hand and try to touch them with his fingers.

"You like yellow?" the woman asked from behind him.

"It's my favorite color," Charles answered and turned around with a smile.

"It's mine too," the woman smiled back. "I have a bed in the basement, but it's pretty dark down there," she chuckled as she faked a shiver. "Spooky. You don't mind?"

"No, it's fine. Uh, thanks. Thanks a lot."

"No problem. Shall we go, then?"

Charles nodded and followed the woman through the backdoor of the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I did rip off the scene where Charles kills his father from Bates Motel. I mean, if anyone asks... :P. Only, instead of "Mr. Sandman" I'd choose "You Really Got a Hold on Me" as the background song :).
> 
> This was quite a journey. It's not my first fanfic but it's the longest one I've ever finished and I'm quite proud of that achievement, if I may say so. I never thought of writing this much story, but Charles is just so fascinating the words kept flowing and flowing. This definitely won't be the last you read of him from me. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who gave me kudos and stuck with this story until the end. You guys rock!


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